The Games Never End
by SALJStella
Summary: Adam and Lawrence are lovers, and live their life almost perfectly. But when Zep finds out about their relationship, he tries to blackmail Lawrence for money. And when Lawrence won't give them to him, the most precious thing in his life takes the hit...
1. Before The Interlude

**A/N: Okay, I'm ****fully aware that I already have a lot of fics in progress, but… I'm damn unstoppable! And no matter how many people that have abandoned AdamLawrence, I haven't, so that plot remains from the rest of my fics! Also, it's AU, since Zep somehow survived. **

**A/N#2: Also, this idea isn't mine. A wonderful reviewer of mine, ****Fenix Flamejante, ****pitched it to me. She owns it all, and I owe her big thanks for that! **

**Disclaimer: I owe neither the idea of the film or the plot, so I owe less than usual on this one… **

**1: Before The Interlude**

The sunshine tickles Lawrence's eyes when he wakes up this morning.

It's almost twenty minutes until his alarm clock will go off. And he really isn't a morning person, but right now, he's actually thankful for these minutes. Just these twenty minutes when he can appreciate the tiny body next to him before he has to get up and voluntarily let work stress him into pieces.

Lawrence rolls over to his side and looks at Adam's relaxed face next to him. The sunlight paints his pale skin gratifyingly, and Lawrence presses him even closer.

He's never slept like this with Allison. He's never been allowed, or even willing, to fall asleep with the feeling of her naked skin against his own, and right now, he's grateful for it.

"Adam," Lawrence whispers and sweeps a hand over his cheek.

Adam grunts something and squints against the light.

"Adam, wake up," Lawrence says softly, cranes Adam's head back slightly and plants an open-lipped kiss on his mouth.

Adam grumbles and slowly opens his eyes into grays slits. And he grins sleepily when he sees Lawrence.

"Hey, man," he mutters and rubs his one eye with his hand. "Fuck, is this your way of punishing me for being able to sleep to eleven while you're busting your ass at the hospital?"

Lawrence chuckles and puts a hand on his bare waist.

"I just wanted to see you, I'm getting up soon."

Adam closes his eyes again. But he doesn't stop smiling. Lawrence leans forward and kisses him, with a little bigger response this time, and Adam laughs quietly when he opens his mouth and allows Lawrence's tongue to enter.

"Damn, you're such a pain," he mumbles as Lawrence traces his kisses down his neck, over his collarbone. "Typical of you to give me a hard-on ten minutes before you're gong… Oh, for fucks sake, Lawrence, drop it before I go crazy…"

Lawrence laughs and straightens up again. _God, _how he doesn't want to.

_God, _how badly he wants to stay in bed with Adam for the whole day, in their own little bubble, where it's warm and safe and soft and sweet and wet…

"You want to do something when I get back from work?" He still asks. "Allison has Diana today."

Adam nods and stretches himself. Lawrence gets out of the bed and looks around for his pants.

"What about a movie?" Adam asks drowsily. "I want to see… That… That thing…"

His talking fades away with a sigh, and Lawrence laughs again. Adam hisses something inaudible.

"Come on, man, I'm tired…" Adam mutters. "It's that thing with Naomi Watts and those two psychos and that family and all that crap…"

"'Funny Games?'" Lawrence asks, amused, as he pulls his pants on.

"Mm," Adam mutters and rolls over on his stomach.

"That sounds good," Lawrence says and fastens the final button in his shirt. "But I have to go now. You have any plans for today?"

"Going back to sleep," Adam drawls and lets himself be kissed hastily before Lawrence straightens up and leaves the bedroom. "Be good today, honey, so that I won't have to get a job, too."

"God forbid," Lawrence calls back, laughter playing with his voice, before he closes the front door behind him.

Lawrence locks the door before he runs down the stairs to the dark building that is Adam's home. _Their _home.

Adam is his life now days. It's true that from the outside, he's the same person as he was before… That.

Just a little happier. A little nicer to his patients, even though he's been through a divorce.

That's only because of Adam, really. Adam and his sarcasms, his pride, his small, insecure, searching hands on Lawrence's body…

They'd saved Lawrence's life.

For the past year, those hands have been there. Been there to pick him up when he's going down, when the memories devour him and pull him into hopelessness and he doesn't find a way out.

Lawrence starts the car with a soft purring from the engines.

He knows he means just as much to Adam as he does to him. Even though Adam blushes when Lawrence pushes his head down on his chest, even though he just mutters something when Lawrence tries to take his face between his hands and tell him that he loves him.

Adam is broken. Broken on the inside.

He was broken before Jigsaw tore him up even more.

If you're broken, you can't accept what people try to give you.

But it doesn't bother Lawrence. Adam is the way he is, and he loves him for it. More than he ever loved Allison, if he has to be honest.

A few minutes later, Lawrence pulls over outside of the hospital. And just like every other time he does that, that cold, dull horror in the bottom of his stomach manages to erase every trace of that warm, sleepy happiness Adam coaxed out of him.

He knows what expects him in there.

Lawrence subconsciously takes a deep breath before he opens the car door and gets out.

Zep.

Zep is in there.

He's in there, with his cold, blue eyes above his cleaning cart.

Lawrence starts walking against the hospital. He acts even more ridiculous than usual today. Which is weird, since he never likes when he has to smile against Zep when they meet in the hospital halls.

He never likes to leave patients alone with him.

But come on. How long has it been since he was _this _scared of an average orderly?

_An orderly that held a gun to your daughter's head, _a little voice in his head says.

But Lawrence ignores it. There's still nothing he can do. If he changes job, no one will let him leave the hospital without giving someone a reason why. And if he talks to the hospital board about getting Zep fired, they'd demand a reason, too.

And to be frame, there are no evidences, none that haven't gotten burned and destroyed, that say that Zep has done anything wrong at all, except for acting a little strange in general. And Lawrence is an awful liar.

So he just has to suck it up. And that's what he's been doing up until he met Adam, so he should be able to do that pretty nicely. He and Zep have their hang-ups on each other. So they let each other be.

Lawrence knows Zep has had a woman and a child, a helpless, crying little eight year-old under hostage.

Zep knows that Lawrence has cheated on his wife with more people than Adam. They both know that the other one knows. That's enough.

Lawrence walks up to the nurse's station and picks up his chart for today. And when he puts on his white lab coat, he walks past Zep, who pushes his cart in front of himself. Lawrence feels how his ice blue eyes send a cold beam through him.

"Doctor Gordon," Zep says politely.

"Zep," Lawrence replies, but he doesn't manage to bring out that fake smile he actually can do for this sick bastard for most of the time.

Because Lawrence really is more paranoid than usual today.

What he doesn't know is that he actually has a reason.

**I must admit, this fic won't contain that much graphic slash. It's more of a sweet mixture of horror and fluff! Either way, review! **


	2. Premonition

**A/N: Another chapter! YAY! ****I am still completely lost on this kind of angst, even though I'm a sucker for it… So let's all cross our fingers that I can pull it off! **

**2: Premonition **

Later on in life, Lawrence will never understand how he could walk around for the whole day, more anxious than usual, sure, but still surprisingly normal.

He'll never be able to understand how he walked around in those hallways and treated patients for a couple of hours, at least, before the horror clutched to him, freezing, crushing and screaming, overwhelmingly big, just the way he recognizes it from those six hours in the bathroom that are the cause of Adam's nightmares, of the crippling scar that goes like a zip lock around Lawrence's ankle.

Maybe he just wants to walk around there and live his normal life. Maybe he knows on some level, even though it will be such a big shock later on, that the life he's built up soon will be broken, crushed and shattered, and nothing will be left.

But he doesn't think of that right now.

Right now, he treats his patients quicker than ever, jittery and fumbling, those calm, safe, soft hands he raked through Adam's hair just a few hours ago seem to have disappeared in flames, and then stands in the doctor's lounge, restless, pacing from wall to wall with his hands over his mouth.

Jesus.

Lawrence chuckles nervously and has to stop in the middle of the room.

He acts like he's sentenced to death. Like someone who's sitting in a cell for the last hours in his life, watches the second hand on his watch slowly ticking towards his faith.

And it's still just an ordinary day.

Lawrence takes his hands down from his face.

Yes. It's an ordinary day. He got to talk to Adam before he went to work for a change, he got to feel the warmth of his little body underneath the covers, and he doesn't have that many patients. He'll get off early, and he'll go home and find Adam sitting by the TV, see how his face cracks in a smile and how he puts his cigarette in the ashtray as he walks up to Lawrence, and he'll put his hand on his neck and allow his tongue and his bitter taste of tobacco to slide into Lawrence's mouth. And then, they'll go to the movies, and they'll hide in the darkness and the smell of popcorn, Lawrence will fumble after Adam's face and taste his cool lips.

It's a pretty common Friday night to them. Now. When they have each other.

Lawrence smiles faintly when that comes to his mind. He knows that's what's waiting for him at home. That soft, dark hair that's caressing his palm, Adam's taste, the only one who knows what he's been through. For real.

The only one that can listen. And that doesn't want to realize that Lawrence can do the same for him.

He knows that's all at home. And he still can't relax.

And just as Lawrence thinks that, like destiny wants to prove him wrong, Zep enters the room.

Lawrence startles more than he'd liked to when he sees those ice eyes bore into him again. Not over a cleaning cart this time.

There's nothing to protect them from each other.

"Hello, Zep," Lawrence says insecurely and picks up his chart, that he's thrown onto the couch and holds it in front of his chest out of reflex. Like he has to have something between them.

Zep just nods. For a second, they're just staring at each other, a struggle between two blue eyes, Lawrence in a lab coat, Zep in a janitor uniform, chalk white, like a cloud.

Lawrence has read somewhere that the guards in mental institutions wear completely white uniforms, because that calms the patients down. But right now, he really doesn't understand how that's possible, since Zep's clothes sort of seem to absorb his gaze so that he can't think of his own, so that another side of him takes over, a _ruthless _side, a side that wants to pick Zep up, grab his fucking head and scream, as those eyes look at him between his fingers in terror: _You fucking bastard, you hurt Adam, you hurt Diana, and I'll crush your fucking skull, I'll crush you until you…_

But he doesn't do any of this. He probably wouldn't have, even if Zep hadn't interrupted his thoughts.

"Would you come with me, doctor Gordon?" He asks with that light little voice, it kind of bounces into Lawrence's ears, flutters in there like an annoying little mosquito that he just wants to get out.

Without waiting for an answer, Zep walks out of the room. Lawrence stares dumbfounded after him for a few seconds before he starts following him. An old habit.

He's pretty used to obeying people by now.

_Pussy, _that little voice in his head says.

Lawrence can't disagree. And that annoys him.

When they're in the hallway, Zep opens the door to one of the supplying closets. He gets in there without even looking behind him, and when Lawrence follows him, he thinks that either he must be very predictable, or Zep just very predicting.

Both thoughts scare the hell out of him.

Zep closes the door behind him. The room is small, and it mostly contains shelves packed with blue little bottles with pink little labels, and Lawrence immediately wants to get out of there. Not just because of Zep's little ice eyes on his face, but also because he has claustrophobia from the bathroom.

Because the walls seem to close around him.

Because they're about to squeeze everything that's sensible out of him until he's left alone with a desperation that he'd gladly saw his foot off again to get rid of, and one single, pricking, flashing thought: _Have to get out. Have to get out of here. Now. _

But he stays. He doesn't know why, but he stays, and Zep takes a deep breath and says, with no expression in either face or voice:

"When are you planning to tell people that you've got a new lover?"

The question is still said with that voice. The mosquito voice. And it flies into Lawrence's head, it gives him the knowledge, but not the ability to accept it.

It just lies there and buzzes.

It takes Lawrence way too long to get it.

He knows.

Zep knows.

He knows about Adam.

Adam is in their apartment right now, probably all newly awakened, with a bowl of cereals and a small drop of milk on his bottom lip.

And Zep knows that.

"Hello?" Zep says, completely empty, completely blank. It doesn't even sound sarcastic.

Lawrence opens his mouth.

Okay. Zep knows. What do you do with a Zep that knows?

Does he really _have _to do anything?

No one else knows about his and Adam's relationship. Not even Allison. But that's really mostly because neither Lawrence nor Adam see a very big point in telling anyone, not because they necessarily have to keep it a secret.

Lawrence almost laughs in relief when he realizes this.

He doesn't care.

Zep knows. And he doesn't care.

And then, he can finally answer.

"I didn't have that many plans on doing that at all, Zep."

Zep's face is just as expressionless as before. His whole body is ice, not just his eyes.

He's a harsh, cold, slippery surface. Lawrence's words don't stick on it.

"Alright," Zep says.

Ice word. Ice eyes.

"Then I'll be frame," Zep continues. "I won't tell anyone about you two, either. If you give me two million dollars."

Once again, Lawrence almost laughs.

_What the hell is up with this guy? _The little voice, which actually seems to be on his side right now, says. _Isn't he a little too old to play 'The Godfather'?_

"That won't happen, Zep," Lawrence says and puts both hands in the pockets of his coat. "First of all, I don't have that kind of money, and second of all, you can tell anyone you want about me and Adam, however you've managed to find it out. I don't care."

And then, Zep actually smiles. It's a small and crooked smile, and a completely insane smile, it's the first one Lawrence has ever seen him doing. And he's never, ever, in all his life, not even when that saw moved under his own hand against his skin, been more afraid than now.

Because he's just realized something.

Zep doesn't need any money.

He just needs to do something horrible.

He needs to see people writhing in pain, and he needs it to be because of him. He needs to see them screaming, he needs to see blood and tears.

That's what he needs. Nothing else.

"There's more than that that I can use to make you do whatever I want, doctor," Zep says, his voice is a _buzz-buzz-buzz_ in Lawrence's ears under the sound of his own heartbeat. "I happen to know the two things you care about most in the world."

Lawrence stares at him. His mouth hangs open, his eyes are wide, but he doesn't notice, and even if he did, he wouldn't have cared.

No.

Please, God, no.

Not Adam.

Not Diana.

He can't do it.

Not again.

Lawrence closes his mouth. Hopes that the freezing, crushing and screaming, overwhelmingly big horror that rises in him like cold water doesn't show.

_Please, God, not again._

"What's it going to be, doctor?" Zep says, still calm, still with the ice face. "You've got those money?"

Lawrence has to open his mouth again. Even though his tongue is like sandpaper, even though his one hand is already on the handle. "No," he croaks out. "And if you lay a fucking hand on Adam, I will kill you. I'll crack your head between two rocks."

And then, he opens the door and runs away.

Zep smiles weakly once again.

Smiles because he gets a picture of Lawrence running in his head. How the tears are hanging like strings from the corners of his eyes, smeared by the wind, how his heavy breathing is mixed with his sobs, how he sits down in his fancy fucking car and drives back home, even though it's too late, even though it's been too late since the moment he said no.

Zep Hindle smiles. Because he feels that joy again. That quivering deep down in his soul, in the core of his truest, purest insanity, that he knows so well and that he's missed so much.

He picks up the cell phone from his pocket, dials a number with trembling, spasmodically tensed fingers, lifts the phone to his ears and listens to the signals until someone picks up.

"Hi, Amanda. Yeah, he's on his way home now. Wait for him. Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can. Just tie the kid up and put him in the car, and I'll bring him to John."

**Oh, how I love these cliffhangers…. Anyway, many thanks those of you who's reviewed the first chapter… And I'd love you forever if you do it on this one, too! **


	3. Old Acquaintances

**A/N: Hey, hey, ****I'm back with a chapter! I don't know if I make anyone happy with it, but… Writing is all I have now, and… Well, this is the result of it. Enjoy, my pretties…**

**3: ****Old Acquaintances**

"_What the fuck is this?"_

"_Calm down, just calm down."_

_Lawrence doesn't know if he's able to convince the young man in the other end of the room. It's possible that he doesn't seem very calming when he's not the least bit calm himself. _

The steering wheel slips under his fingers, the black leather squeaks when he tries to turn, tries to turn fast enough, get there and save something if there's anything left.

"_Are we going to be okay?"_

_No. They won't be okay. There's no fucking way they'll be okay. In fact, Lawrence knows that even if they make it out, neither one of them will be okay, never ever again._

_But Adam doesn't need to hear that right now. He's scared enough as it is. And when he looks at Lawrence, with the childish hopefulness of a kid and the desperation of a young man, Lawrence doesn't have the heart to tell him at all. _

"_I wouldn't lie to you."_

Lawrence hasn't run to his apartment. He's just been sitting in his car, barely noticed that he was crying, that he's crying still.

But he's still out of breath when he gets there and starts leaping up the stairs.

_"Okay. We've narrowed it down to these two."_

_Lawrence looks at the movies Adam holds up in front of him. _

"'_The Shining' or 'Ring?' Can't we watch anything besides horror for once?"_

_Adam flips the movies to look at the covers with a half shameful, half smug smile playing over his lips. _

"_Shut up. If you got to decide, we'd watch 'How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days' every Friday night."_

_He puts one of the movies back on the shelf and waves with the final one. _

"_We're settling for 'The Shining.' You get to pick the chips."_

But Lawrence knows it's too late.

He really knew it the same second he ran out of the closet, away from Zep, away from the best life he's ever lived that still was the result of the worst thing that's ever happened to him. He knows Adam well enough, loves him enough to know when he's safe.

He usually feels it. When he's at the hospital, when he does he's pre-rounds, and lets his mind wander over to Adam at home.

He feels it in his stomach, like something soft, warm and vibrating, calm and steady, like Adam thinks of him, thinks of how Lawrence runs around like an idiot, and sends some sort of mental message to him as he's reading from a cereal box: _I know you worry. You always do. But I'm fine. You can cool down. _

But he isn't now. Adam is gone.

When he comes up from the stairs, Lawrence immediately sees the scratches around the doorknob, sees the broken lock, bent and snapped, shattered, like it tries to symbolize that everything that Lawrence and Adam have built up, the fragile excuse for a life they had, is now opened up, cut into pieces, someone has stomped into the one, fragile thing they had, turned it upside down, torn it apart, smashed it into pieces. And Adam wasn't strong enough to stop it.

And then, he knows it's too late.

_"Do it now."_

_Lawrence looks up. Adam looks firmly into his eyes, and there's some sort of fog over his gaze, like a veil of want and lust._

"_Are you sure?"_

_Adam nods. And Lawrence only has enough self-control to hesitate for a second before he rolls Adam over to his stomach, swallows hastily and says in a shaky voice: _

"_This will hurt a little, Adam."_

Lawrence opens the door.

And he sees a deserted battlefield.

He sees ruins of the life he had. Everything is just like he imagined, in a small, merciless, and still dreadfully sensible part of his brain.

It's broken. Everything is broken.

The bookcase is overturned.

The TV is smashed.

Papers and torn up books is strewn over the living room. And Lawrence cries even harder – still without noticing it, though – when he sees Adam pictures, the pictures he actually cared about, not the one he took as espionage, laying over the floor, wrinkled and torn, everything that Adam's done, the only thing in his life he succeeded with.

Ruined. Torn.

It might as well have been lying body parts all over the room. He might as well have lived in a fucking slaughterhouse.

It's broken.

And Adam is not there.

Adam is gone.

Adam is gone.

Lawrence puts a sweaty hand over his mouth.

_Adam is gone Adam is gone but he can't be gone can'tcan'tcan't be gone can't be gone_

_Relax, Lawrence. Relax. Breath._

_You've dealt with worse things. You've been standing over patients without a pulse, with their blood on your hands, rich and crimson, thick and sticky._

_That was worse. You know it was worse. You can't freak out just because you don't find your lover the second you come through the door. _

That is true.

And yet, Lawrence knows it's wrong, so terribly wrong. Because that voice doesn't know about Jigsaw, it doesn't know about the constant danger that hovers over Adam every second of every day and that neither one of them have ever wanted to discuss.

Adam is gone. Lawrence knows that. And it's true that he's had to deal with worse things, and more than anything, he's seen other people having to deal with worse things.

He's seen people having to realize that the one they love is definitely dead. Not just gone.

But in that way, Lawrence is almost even more childish than Adam. Because he never, ever thought that he'd have to realize something like that himself.

He's not meant to fight. And neither is Adam. So they made a world together where they only had each other.

Only had the only one in the world that they didn't have to fight.

So now, when he actually _has _to realize it, he can't. He had a weak moment before, but his life is too perfect and his mind too permeated by it, so this information doesn't reach him, it's just like when Zep talked to him, it doesn't get a toehold in his head, it just ripples around in there, even though that chilling thing that's replaced the warm, safe one that's there when Adam is fine is a sure proof that it's true.

Adam is gone.

Adam is gone. And everything is broken.

And on top of what's broken, on top of the broken couch that's on the broken floor in line with the broken wall, there's one thing that's whole. And it's a young woman that Lawrence doesn't know but that still smiles at him, with lips that are venomous and sharply red, in a way like Lawrence should find it completely normal to see her there.

"Hello, doctor."

Lawrence doesn't even have the energy to be surprised. He just has the energy to take his hand down from his mouth and slowly let every emotion pour out of him.

Just like he did when this happened with Allison and Diana.

Just like he did when the worst thing in his life happened for the first time.

He's not even scared. Because a pretty big part of him still can't understand that this is happening. It's more like he's standing there and watches himself, sweaty, panting and pale, from the outside, a few feet away.

"Who are you?"

The voice sounds like someone else's, too.

The woman's smile gets wider. And eviler.

"Don't you remember me?"

She cringes, wrinkles her face into a grimace, lets fake, exaggerated sobs trickle down her chin, like broken pearls of glass that bounces over those sharp lips.

"H-he… _Helped _me…"

She's making fun of herself. And it still isn't until now that Lawrence recognizes her.

"Amanda? Amanda Young?"

Amanda scoffs and picks a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her jeans.

"I've changed a bit since you last saw me," she says, her voice hollow.

She lights the cigarette with a lighter that's next to the ones in the pack. Then waves the cigarette a little and looks at him coaxingly.

"You mind if I smoke?"

"What are you doing here?"

Lawrence sees himself stutter the word out, hears himself say it. Because he still can't imagine this happening to him.

Amanda forms her lips around a ring of smoke that sails up against the ceiling. And she doesn't seem to want to answer at all.

"Adam," Lawrence croaks out.

He can't think of a better way to begin the sentence. He can't think of much at all right now.

"You know where he is, don't you?"

Amanda looks at him. Her eyes are cold, empty, like dark tunnels, but she's still smiling.

"Of course I do. He's fucking cute. Wouldn't take my eyes off him."

Lawrence should get annoyed over her saying this. But his emotions are broken, too. They're hidden in the shards of glass from the TV, in Adam's wrinkled photos. But they're crawling back out now. Slowly, slowly.

"Where is he?"

He doesn't sound like he cares. Amanda cranes her head against the door, like she's already getting tired of him and starts to think about leaving.

"Zep's already taken off with him," she says in a sigh. "I got to tell you: He was tougher than we thought. Kicked and screamed like crazy. You'd think that such a skinny little guy should be easily manageable, but I had to beat the little fucker over the head with a lamp for him to cool down."

Lawrence closes his eyes for a brief second.

Adam fights. His tiny fists hit Zep over the jaw.

Amanda.

Her arms are raised.

The empty cracking when the glass shatters against Adam's head.

Amanda's polished nails. Her hands on his body.

Fucking bitch.

A spark of anger finds a way through Lawrence's emotional numbness, and he feels how his nails bury themselves in his palms.

Fucking, filthy, goddamned _bitch!_

Then he opens his eyes again. Amanda's still here, which has to mean that she's not a bad dream, and her smile is wider than ever.

"He should be with John now."

Lawrence takes two big steps to the couch. Amanda looks up at him, and it looks like it's amusement that sparkles like little diamonds in those dark tunnels that are her eyes.

"What do you want?" Lawrence asks and makes an empty gesture with his arm against her.

His emotions are starting to return. He already feels that familiar panic licking at his nerve endings.

"You want money?" He asks, he pleads. "I have money. I'll give you anything, I promise, just let Adam go."

Amanda laughs. It doesn't sound joyous at all. And in his head, Lawrence almost laughs at himself, because how in the name of hell can he be so stupid that he asks something like that?

He knows what these people want. He knows what they want him to do.

He's done it once before. He knows how it works.

"Doctor," Amanda says, leans forward and puts the cigarette out against the coffee table. "The only thing I'm asking of you is for you to play a game. You know that."

Lawrence nods.

He should panic. He thought he would. But every trace of that kind of fear has suddenly poured out of him.

This was exactly what he expected her to say.

Soon, any second now, really, he'll kick and scream, cry and fight. But not now.

He'll save that for a moment when he's actually surprised.

And he won't beg.

He won't give Amanda that satisfaction.

"Are you in?" Amanda asks quietly.

Her face is right next to his now. He smells the smoke on her breath in every word she says, like a thick, fuzzy shell around her voice.

Adam.

Adam's taste. The under taste of smoke on his tongue.

His tiny hands inside Lawrence's shirt.

His absence.

"Will you play?" Amanda says, her breath still with her terrible impression of Adam's wonderfulness. "To get your lover back?"

Lawrence swallows. And for a brief second, he's not even afraid, he's just tired, he wants to lay down on the broken couch and sleep, he wants to let Adam take care of his own problems, because he doesn't have the energy, he can't do it, he can't go through it again.

But just for a second.

Then, he looks firmly into Amanda's eyes.

Tries to keep his eyes from displaying how the white, flashing panic that was about to overwhelm him is replaced with the silent, sneaking, pricking terror that emulsions with his blood, freezes him down from the inside, keeps him disturbingly calm.

Just like the last time.

"You know I will," he says.

He actually sounds calm.

Amanda smiles again. Then, she gets up, hauls the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and picks something else up from it.

When Lawrence sees the syringe, sees the transparent liquid in it, a thorn of the unbalanced panic stings through his dead sanity, like a cold jolt, and his eyes are widened, the breath gets caught in his throat.

"You don't mind, do you, doc?" Amanda asks, in a tone like she just asks Lawrence to move a little to the right, so that she can get past him. "We're going for a little trip, and I'd prefer it if you didn't see what route we take.

Lawrence nods slowly.

Because he still won't beg.

And he won't even flinch when Amanda, with no further hesitation, raises her hand, like she did in Lawrence's mind just a few seconds ago, and jams the pin into his neck.

He won't even gasp when he feels the drug engulf him, matting his fear, drain his head, and finally force him down to his knees.

He won't show any weakness.

Adam wouldn't have wanted that.

**Want to know what happened to Adam? (Hypnotizes) I know you do… Just as badly as you want to review… **


	4. Lawrence Isn't Here

**A/N: ARGH! ****Sorry about the long update, but I've been far away… In a terrible place without Internet… (Shudders) Anyway, that didn't keep me from writing, so now when I'm home, chapter four is all postable and ready to go! **

**4: Lawrence Isn't Here**

_Pain._

One single word. One single word that shines white in the dark tunnel he's in.

_Pain. _

Maybe he reaches out his hands. Tries to get a grip on things, tries to find something, _anything_ in this surreal haze of darkness and repressed fear that's true and real.

_Pain. _

Or maybe he lets his hands hang along his sides. It doesn't matter. He still doesn't find anything, in case he's looking for something.

_Pain. _

But after staring stupidly at the insides of his eyelids for a few minutes, he's still pretty certain that he lifts one of his hands, puts it on the side of his head, tries to stop that warm, sticky thing that's throbbing from there.

A hole. There's a hole in his head.

There's a hole in his head. And he can't even open his eyes.

_Lawrence. _

A new word. Lights up. In a kinder way than the last one did.

_Don't worry. Lawrence is here. Lawrence is coming soon. _

_Lawrence is coming soon, and he'll furrow his brows, take your head between his soft, secure doctor-hands and graze his thumb over that hole in your head, he'll suck the blood off his finger, kiss your cheek and ask if you're sure that you don't want him to take you to a hospital. _

_You don't have to worry. Lawrence is here. Lawrence will fix you. _

_Lawrence is here. He'll make everything okay. _

Lawrence.

It's possible that he's coming here. It's possible that he's going to plant that insuring kiss on Adam's cheek, possible that he'll come along with his gentle hands and fix even the most severe wounds like they were paper cuts. Like so many other times.

Like so many times he's seen Adam on the bathroom floor. Rolled up into a ball, his nails buried in his temples, with stubborn little tears rolling down his cheeks.

He might help Adam to his feet, kiss the marks on the sides of his head and clean his hands.

It's possible.

But he isn't here now, Adam feels that, Lawrence is shining with his absence like his name shines from the insides of Adam's eyelids, his entire body is screaming for Lawrence's warmth since it suddenly feels how awfully, awfully _cold _it is!

And maybe its' that. Maybe it's the fact that some emotions start to drive through that dark tunnel, brief and quick, like rushing, tiny cars, Adam has to throw himself over them and force them into his body. And then, he feels.

Maybe that's why he finally feels the strong bindings around his wrists, his ankles.

And then.

Then he feels that panic.

Deafening. Paralyzing.

That panic that's like photo flashes in front of his eyes, like a permanent, hollow beep in his ears, that panic that gets more control over his body than he has, that panic that makes him scream even though it's pointless, even though no one can hear him, even though Lawrence isn't here, even though Lawrence's doctor-hands are way too far away to fix anything, way too far away to comfort him.

That panic. And it's not the first time he feels it.

But it's the first time he feels it without having Lawrence's voice here to sooth him.

And then, it gets too much. Way too much.

"Be quiet."

It's a miracle that Adam can hear this voice over his own screams. But he does either way, and it makes him too surprised to remember that he's too scared to open his eyes.

The first thing he sees is himself. His own white t-shirt that's stained with the blood that pours from the wound in his head, he sees his jeans, his wrists that's already covered with sores from the strong leather belts that are used to tie him up.

It takes him a while to understand. His brain puts things together very slowly.

_Okay. Armchair. You're sitting in an armchair. You're tied up with belts. _

_Your legs. They hurt. They hurt because they're sharply bent in a weird angle. They have to be bent that way for your ankles to be tied to the legs of the chair. _

_You're in a room. There's a bed in the room. Next to the chair. It's unmade. There's a window above it. There are boards nailed over it. _

_The floor. The floor is made of rotting boards. There is a door. It's locked. With a big chain. Big padlock. _

_There's an old desk. There's a TV on the desk. There are drawers in the desk. In those drawers, there are small boxes with marijuana cigarettes. You know this because you used to go here with your friends when you were a teenager. You used to smoke those cigarettes. This means you have to be in your hometown. _

_There's a chair in the other end of the room. Jigsaw is sitting on it. He stares at you with eyes that have only stared at you in your deepest, darkest nightmares, cold, blue, but this isn't a nightmare, it's real, Lawrence won't wake you up, rock you, hum quietly in your ear, and even if this was a nightmare, you wouldn't let him do that, because you're proud and you're stupid and right now, you think you were damn stupid for not letting Lawrence comfort you when he actually was there to do it, and now, you don't know if you'll ever see him again. _

_That's the situation. And you're absolutely terrified. Okay?_

"Hello, Adam."

Adam just stares at him.

The voice in his head was right.

It's Jigsaw.

It's Jigsaw. Again.

And Lawrence isn't here. Lawrence is gone.

Adam is alone. And it's Jigsaw. Jigsaw is here with him.

"Where's Lawrence?"

Jigsaw doesn't even flinch. He almost looks bored, where he's sitting like a guard next to the door with his cape over his head.

"Where's Lawrence?"

Adam doesn't know why he's worrying over this. He knows that's it's mainly him who's in danger, that no matter what situation Lawrence is in, it can hardly be worse than this, but it doesn't matter. He wants Lawrence here with him, not like a man needs his lover but like a child needs his father, needs a comforting embrace to crawl up in, a warm chest to cry against.

Because he's so scared. He's more scared than the nightmares ever made him. Simply because it's not a nightmare.

It's real. Way too real.

"Where's Lawrence?"

The question comes out more impatiently now. But Jigsaw still doesn't seem to hear him.

"Where's Lawrence?"

If Jigsaw hadn't strapped him up, Adam had strangled him at this point. It feels like a stubborn little fire, a sadistic longing that burns in every fiber of his body.

His face was pale with fear for the first few seconds, but now, it's sparkling red, his restrained hands are fisted and opened irregularly, his eyes flash through the dim light when he makes a fruitless yank with his hands against the belts.

"_You sick fucking bastard, where's Lawrence?!"_

Jigsaw looks calmly at him. His bony hands are folded over his stomach as he slowly opens his mouth.

"Amanda has probably talked to him, he should be on his way now."

Before Adam manages to display his reaction to this, he says:

"I'm sorry about the wound on your head. I told Amanda that she would just give you the shot and take you here without hurting you."

"Who the hell is Amanda?"

Adam was going to yell the question, but most of his powers seem to be wasted on that last roar. He's still pretty dizzy.

"Doctor Gordon has told you about her," Jigsaw says patiently. "He listened to her testimony."

Adam searches though his battered head for a few seconds before he finds the right place in its files.

Right. The bathroom. Something Lawrence said in the bathroom. In the folder Things We Don't Think About Unless We Have To.

And Lawrence. Lawrence is with her.

"So she's…"

Jigsaw nods.

"My apprentice."

Adam rolls his eyes. Jigsaw's calmness annoys him. He'd actually preferred it if he'd grabbed Adam's shoulders, tried to make him quiet, punched him when he screamed, so that Adam…

Adam hadn't had to feel so powerless.

Hadn't had to feel like someone you can restrain with some pitiful belts.

"Okay," Adam says and throws his hands out as much as he can at the moment. "Your apprentice is with Lawrence, and she's smacked me over the head with a lamp, FYI. So far, so good. No _tell me _what the _fuck I'm doing here!"_

He managed to get that last part out as a scream. He's starting to recover, and by _God, _how good it feels.

Jigsaw looks at him with that stoical calm in his gaze that makes Adam hate him even more, and then says, with his raspy voice:

"I want you to play a game."

It's a good thing that Adam is so proud.

Well, it _is _the pride that's put him back into this situation. But still.

If he hadn't been this proud, he would've cried. His head would've fallen down to his chest, his shoulder would've shaken, big tears would've rolled down his cheeks. Simply because the same words that rang through Lawrence's head now are ringing through his own.

_Not again. Not again._

_It took me so long to get everything back together after the first time. _

_I did it once. But I can't do it again. Not again. _

But now, that Adam _is _very proud, he just stares at Jigsaw for a brief second with widened eyes, one single second, before he opens his mouth, his weak chest heaves, and he screams once again, without words and without meaning, the air in his lungs are pressed out like one single roar of despair. And Jigsaw doesn't even flinch.

"_I was out!" _Adam yells when the first scream is over and he really doesn't have any breath left. _"I was out! _I got _out, _you crazy motherfucker! Why the _hell _would I have to do it again?"

Jigsaw still doesn't have any expression at all. Just those cold fucking eyes, oh, Adam wants to bang them out of his head.

"You got out of that bathroom because someone else helped you to do so," Jigsaw says.

If his lips hadn't moved, Adam would've thought that he was a ventriloquist doll.

"You learned nothing, you're still drifting around in your apartment all day long."

Now, Jigsaw shows that he's at least almost human. Because now, he smiles, a horrible, crooked smile that displays his discolored teeth and that doesn't even reach his eyes.

_Skull. _

A new word that shines like a neon light in Adam's head.

Those grinning teeth, the sunken eyes in the knotted face that's painted by the light that seeps in through the boards over the windows.

Yes. It's a skull. And it grins.

"The fact that you have someone to join you doesn't make a difference," Jigsaw adds.

Adam doesn't have the strength to yell anymore. His stomach retracts in irregular spasms in desperate attempts to regain the air he wasted on the first scream, and more than anything, he's so scared that it's his only way to breath, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop being angry.

"Okay," he says hectically. _"I _didn't learn a thing, _I _don't appreciate my life, _I'm _a bad little boy that hasn't done his homework, but _Lawrence _sawed off his foot in your _first _fucking attempt to act like you're giving two shits about what people do with their lives. So why the hell would you pull _him _into this?"

That smile doesn't go away. But Adam preferred the blank face.

"I have to make some sacrifices. And that was your assignment the last time, so this is only fair."

Now, it's another one of those seconds. A frozen second, a second when Adam just stares at him, stares at that face that's been in his nightmares for God knows how long now, with widened eyes, before he remembers who he is, and starts tugging on those damn belts that restrain him, thrashes back and forth until the chair starts to rock and his screams get hoarse.

"You fucking _bastard!" _He yells, and now, Jigsaw's smile finally goes away, at least Adam has that impact on him. "Leave him the fuck _alone! _Let him _go, _or I… I'll _kill _you, you hear me?! I'll take your fucking cancer-filled head and _fucking crush it!" _

Jigsaw cringes slightly when he has to heave himself out of his chair and onto shaky legs, like they're sticks that are about to snap, limps up to Adam and picks something out of the pocket of his cloak, something that's long and shiny and thin and that makes Adam quiet down immediately, reluctantly, like a grumpy little boy, as Jigsaw stands behind the armchair.

When Jigsaw puts the stiletto to his throat, Adam stops tugging on the belts. He's lost and he knows it, but he will at least do it with dignity.

"Then again, the rules are a lot like before," Jigsaw says quietly, like this is something he figures out while he's talking. "Your life still depends on doctor Gordon."

"Lawrence," Adam hisses softly.

He doesn't like when people call Lawrence that.

'Doctor Gordon' is what it said on the wrinkled little note that detective Tapp gave him, along with Lawrence's home address and his occupation.

'Doctor Gordon' is the man he was supposed to track down and take pictures of.

'Lawrence' is the love of his life. And he so badly wants those parts of his life to be separated.

Jigsaw scoffs. It could've been a chuckle if someone else had done it, but it doesn't feel that way. The hand on Adam's shoulder is cold, the blade against his neck is even colder, and the owner to any of this can't possible chuckle, he's sure of that.

"Doctor Gordon is going to prove his love to you," Jigsaw says while he walks back to his chair, not teasingly, more like Adam's comment is the buzzing of a fly that's annoying, sure, but nothing that he'd waste time on squishing. "And you're going to listen to me and answer to my questions."

He lands heavily on the chair with a sigh.

"And if you don't answer, I'll have to cut you," he says simply.

Adam doesn't even get scared. Not for his own sake, at least.

"Kill me?" He says gruffly.

"Not kill," Jigsaw says. "Cut. Your arms."

Adam nods.

He can stand getting cut, hell, the last time he did this, a lot worse things happened.

But Lawrence…

Adam doesn't even want to think about what he has to do. For the second time.

"Doctor Gordon is going to go through some tests," Jigsaw says. "If he gets through them all, he'll get here, he'll set you free, and I'll let you both go. If he doesn't, you'll slowly bleed to death."

He makes it sound so damn easy. So goddamn easy that Adam wants to kill him even more.

"You'll get this," Jigsaw says and picks something else out of his pocket. Something less frightening this time. "That you're familiar with."

A cell phone.

The same cell phone. The same goddamn cell phone that Adam once called the most beautiful invention on this planet, but that now makes him want to throw it away like it bore pest.

"And we're going to watch doctor Gordon," Jigsaw continues. "Which you're also familiar with."

He leans forward to turn on the TV on the desk in front of Adam, but stops in his tracks. For a moment, Adam thinks that the pain doesn't allow him to stretch too far, but when Jigsaw turns to him with that smile back on his face, he realizes that that isn't the reason at all.

"Angry and pathetic," he says in an evil little whisper. "And voyeuristic. You feel right at home now, don't you?"

Adam doesn't even get the time to react to these words, doesn't get the time to throw himself forward and try to smash those grinning teeth out which he so _very, very _badly wants right now, before the screen lightens up, in a black and white, blurred picture, but it's still something that hits a deeper spot in Adam's soul than any of Jigsaw's words, something that would've made him swallow his pride and reach out to touch the smudged picture on the screen with his fingertips if he'd only been able to.

_Lawrence…_

It's Lawrence. Lawrence is on the screen with a young woman that Adam's never seen before, he walks around in there and looks confused. Not in that polite way that he does when they're watching TV and Adam says that the cop in some British whodunit looks like Heath Ledger, but in that inhumanly torn apart way, that dreadfully worried way that Adam's only seen him in once and that he never wants to see again.

_Lawrence… It's not supposed to be this way. It's supposed to be me that sob reluctantly into your chest, it's supposed to be me who don't understand, and you're supposed to explain to me. I'm supposed to be scared and you're supposed to comfort me._

_You're not supposed to be afraid. You can't._

_Then, I have nothing to rely on at all_.

"Let the game begin," the raspy voice next to him says, and Adam has to swallow a big lump of tears in his throat when he hears Jigsaw standing up again, hears the metallic sound of the spring in his stiletto.

**Hope I pulled it off… I haven't written a thing about Jigsaw, I just tend to kill him off. Anyway, please review! **


	5. Hammer, Nail, Scalpel

**A/N: Damn, long update. Sorry about that, but I've been a bit dry… Anyway, now that you know how Adam's doing, it's only fair that you get filled in on Lawrence's situation!**

**5: Hammer, Nail, Scalpel **

In a weird way, Lawrence is still convinced that this isn't happening.

That he's fallen asleep in the on-call room and that this is all a nightmare. That he's going to wake up soon, rub his temples and get back to work. That he'll go home later, that Adam's going to lay on the couch, still in his pajamas, that he'll take him out, watch 'Funny Games.'

He stopped believing that the world he created for them – the world where they never have to fight, everything is easy – would remain untouched long ago. He knows it's not possible, he's seen evil in its purest form, knows it can crush everything that's beautiful like Corn Flakes are crushed between Adam's teeth in the mornings.

But still.

He never thought it would go this far.

When he wakes up, he's got no idea how long it's been. Maybe Adam's already dead, maybe he's already dead himself. But he still wakes up, his head is throbbing like it usually does when he actually _has _fallen asleep in the on-call room, his stomach seems to retract and then swell up, the world spins around for a second until it comes together as an open car door and Amanda's black jeans.

"Come on," she says and nods towards a big, old house that looks like it's about to fall apart any second now.

"I feel sick," Lawrence whimpers.

Pitiful. Like a kid.

Like a kid, he crawls for someone who wants to hurt him.

Someone that might've killed Adam already.

"Throw up, then, if you have to," Amanda says calmly. "But don't even think about running away. He's already with John. His pretty little arms can be sliced up right now."

Now, Lawrence has to look at her. Even though she's still floating up and down, even though he wants nothing more than to close his eyes. Go to sleep.

"What?"

Amanda shakes her head. Like she doesn't want to give away the punch line.

"Just come on."

Lawrence stumbles out of the car and follows her up to the stooping house. Even though the nausea in his empty stomach has been replaced with a big block of ice.

"What do you mean? Will he get…"

The block of ice is coming up his throat, and he has to stop and put his hand over his mouth.

But along with the vomit, he also swallows that last word.

The word 'hurt' can't get past his lips. Because that's the worst thing that can happen, and if he thinks about it, he'll drop to his knees, he'll throw his guts up and he'll cry, like a kid, Amanda's going to win with the visions she plants in his brain. And he won't grant her that.

"That's up to John," Amanda says and unlocks the rotting door with a big key she has in her purse.

"Who the hell is John?" Lawrence snaps and walks into the house.

The humid air smells of mildew. And it's dark, but Lawrence can still see the same smile on her lips as he did in his own apartment.

"That's another person you remember slightly different from what he's like now."

When she sees Lawrence's face over her shoulder as she locks the door behind them, she laughs. She still has the ability to make it sound like something horrible.

"We'll cover that subject later. You'll be updated, both on John and his little guest. But right now, you have more important things to think about."

And then, they walk into a room. And on a different place, three floors above him, Adam gets just as terrified as Lawrence.

"What?" He says and tears his eyes away from the screen. "What the hell are you going to make him do?"

Jigsaw looks like he'd shrug if he'd been able to.

"Look at the screen, Adam."

"_What are you going to make him do?"_

The screaming gives him a soar throat. And it's still completely wasted.

Lawrence walks into a room, Amanda follows him.

And even though they see the exact same thing, they react completely differently.

Lawrence just gets paler. His blood gets colder in his veins, the ice in his stomach gets heavier, and for a second, he doesn't think he's going to be able to move.

And Adam widens his eyes, flickers his gaze from the screen to Jigsaw, tugs helplessly on the belts, like he's trying to break loose, tear Lawrence out of the TV and take him away, away from here, or maybe he's trying to help the woman on the screen, blurred and in black and white, but unmistakable.

"What's he going to do?" He hisses to the pale skull next to him. _"What the hell is he going to do to her?!"_

But the pale skull doesn't respond. It just nod against the TV, look Adam, look what I'm forcing the one you love more than yourself to do, look what I'm forcing him through again.

Look what I'm forcing him to do to the mother of his child.

Yes. Because Allison is on that screen, too.

And she's crucified.

There's no better way to put it.

She's held fast to the moldy wall in front of Lawrence, and spikes have penetrated her hands and her feet, blood is pouring down her arm, stains her blue shirt, dribbles down onto the floor through the hole in her feet, pieces of her nails fall down, down, her eyes stare at Lawrence over the duck tape that covers her mouth, bloodshot, widened, dreading.

And Amanda. Who almost looks amused. Who opens her sharply painted mouth and starts talking.

"This is pretty simple, doc," she says in a soft voice, almost purring, leans closer, tickles him with her breath. "Your ex-wife here has a bomb inside her."

Allison's eyes. Wide and staring.

"Unfortunately, it seems to be right next to her heart, too," Amanda continues, she almost sounds loving now. "And it'll blow up in two minutes. But a big-shot surgeon like you would sure think of a way to get that out of the mother of your daughter to save someone you love, wouldn't you?"

And with those words, she takes out a scalpel, dirty and rusty, from her purse, puts it in Lawrence's pale, stiff hand. Doesn't even look at his frightened eyes, his gaping mouth.

Cut.

He has to cut Allison open.

To prove something that's plain as day.

"You _know _I love Adam," Lawrence croaks out and waves the scalpel randomly. "Why… _Why the hell do I have to prove it?"_

Amanda shrugs. Like he's asked her why she's wearing her hair up today.

Lawrence wants to kill her.

"You really want to go over that now?" Amanda says and pretends to look at her watch. "A minute and fifty seconds."

Okay.

Okay.

For Adam.

Lawrence swallows, leans closer to Allison, puts his ear against her chest to discern something behind that terrified pounding.

_Cut her open for her. And for Adam. _

Yes. There. A small ticking.

Lawrence is only half-aware that he's saying the words he's thinking, quietly and squeakily, as his fingers fumble over Allison's chest, shaking and jittery but practiced, searches through her from the outside and searches through his own brain, that's turn into a cold, hard stone, tries to find the smallest trace of knowledge from a life that now seems so far away.

"… Obstruction reasonably be placed between the front and back artery and then I have to cut right here…"

Allison screams something behind the tape. Maybe she wants him to cut right now, maybe she doesn't want him to do it at all, but either way, Lawrence makes a cut in her shirt, exposes her white lace bra, looks into her eyes with a gaze that doesn't get a grip on hers.

"Allison," he says, almost firmly. "You can scream. But I need you to be _very, very _still right now. For me. Okay?"

He doesn't wait to check if she approves, because time is running out and he feels Amanda's looks on him, looks of mirth mixed with terror and _my god! Is he really going to do it? _even though he's switched off every emotion he has, whenhe puts the scalpel to the ticking and presses.

Allison screams.

Even behind the tape, she screams, loudly, high-pitched, heartbreaking, her blood is gushing, squirting, slippery and warm on Lawrence's hands because this isn't an operation, nothing is sterilized, Lawrence doesn't have any gloves, any coat, any mask, any time, just a ticking, a dreadful ticking and red warm slick on his hand and Allison's heart, her living, beating heart that's pounding, embedded in the red flesh and Allison's screams that's torn into shreds

_for Adam_

by the silvery tape over her mouth

_for Adam okay but it's not happening not for real _

and finally, _finally, _Lawrence finds the ticking,

_Adam is at home we're going to watch Funny Games later because this isn't for real_

finds the rectangular, blinking little thing, pinned, slipping between the thick, throbbing arteries of his ex-wife's heart, he grabs it, tosses it over his shoulder, Amanda catches it, presses two buttons, still like she's doing this every day, and Lawrence wants to kill her again.

"Six seconds to spare," she says, almost merrily, while Lawrence struggles to get his shirt off, get some sort of resistance to the blood that's pouring out of the wound

_(that you caused)_

in Allison's chest.

"You did very well, doc," Amanda says and knocks on a place in the wall next to her to check if it sounds hollow before she jams her elbow into it, picks out a big hammer from the hole she made and gives it to Lawrence. "Here, take the spikes away. I usually don't like helping people out of these things, but I guess she needs _some _blood if she's going to come with us."

"She's not going any-fucking-where," Lawrence hisses and yanks the hammer out of her hand. "She's staying here."

"Where you can't keep an eye on her?"

"Where she won't lose any more blood."

He's glad that he didn't remove the tape before she attaches the first spike to the head of the hammer and pulls. It doesn't go fast, and Allison screams again, but finally, after some wriggling and coaxing, the first one is gone, her well-manicured hand falls down to her side.

Lawrence has to work to get the rest of the spikes out. Not just because they go down deep, but also because the doctor-side of him is so scared, so terribly scared that he's going to hurt her even more, every scream that's muffled by the tape is a cut over his heart with the rusty scalpel, long and slow.

He doesn't love Allison. But he doesn't want to hurt her. Not again.

Finally, the nail in her feet is gone, and at that point, much of Allison's blood is everywhere, on Lawrence's shirt that he's pressing to her chest, on his t-shirt that he's still wearing and on the floor around them, but she's free, and Lawrence can tear the tape away from her mouth, let her fall into his arms.

"Allison," he says, almost as tenderly as he once could speak to her. "I'm so sorry…"

She's just lying there. Her heart beats clearly, _way too fucking clearly _against his own chest, so she's alive, but she doesn't say anything, barely breaths, just half-laying in Lawrence's arms like a lifeless mannequin.

Amanda stares at them with almost detest in her eyes. But when Lawrence looks at her, half pleadingly, half hatefully, she still smiles bitterly and says:

"Very touching reunion scene, guys."

She walks up to Allison, grabs her shoulders, pulls her into a standing position, fixes her wandering, foggy gaze.

"Bitch," she says, not as an insult, but more like a given name, and point to a corridor next to them. "If you walk down that hallway, you'll get to a kitchen. And in that kitchen, there's a door that leads to some stairs. If you walk down those stairs, you'll get to a cellar where there's freezers with bags of blood, IVs, needles and thread, bandages and all that shit that you could use to fix that ugly wound on your pretty little boobs. Okay?"

Allison doesn't respond. Just falters, more and more color disappears from her face, and Lawrence is so worried for so many people at once, images of Allison, Adam and Diana flashes in front of his eyes like his mind was a broken projector. Amanda rolls her eyes.

"You know what? Doesn't matter. Go there if you want to. Die if you like that better. Doctor Gordon, come with me."

She lets go of Allison and beckons to Lawrence to follow her. Lawrence notes that Allison actually does start walking down the corridor that Amanda pointed out, maybe more out of shock than anything else, but still with a surprising amount of determination. But Lawrence still starts to follow her.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Amanda asks calmly.

"Can't I…"

"No."

"But…"

He's begging. This woman has forced him to cut Allison open and she's kidnapped Adam, but he's begging.

"You can do whatever you want," Amanda replies patiently. "But if you don't get to your lover within six hours, he'll probably be the worm food he was born to be once you get there, so I suggest you don't prioritize things without thinking them through."

**This is the first time I write something about traps, and my head was on Mars when I did it… Hope I pulled it off. I don't own the idea of the trap, either, a friend of mine does. Damn, I don't own anything at all in this fic! Anyway, review, please! **


	6. Bleeding Love

**A/N: Another update! YAY! And since the other ****one was such a terrible little thing, I decided to make this into a sweet little mixture of slash, fluff and angst… Enjoy!**

**6: Bleeding Love **

Adam has stopped struggling.

Jigsaw is right next to him now. On the edge of the bed. Adam can't reach him, the belts around his wrists are strong, but if he'd been the same person that Amanda knocked unconscious with a lamp, he wouldn't have cared, he would've tugged on the belts, he would've screamed and cursed, he would've struggled until the tiredness got too big, until no words came out of his mouth, just an empty, hoarse roar that didn't stop until he tasted blood in the back of his throat.

Just like in the bathroom.

Adam had done that then. He'd been alone, it'd been dark and he'd been scared, so fucking scared, and in the same time, so filled with such an overwhelming rage that he'd screamed, screamed because there was nothing else to do, screamed until he couldn't even do thatt anymore and fell apart into a shapeless heap on the floor.

And Adam would've done that this time, too.

If he hadn't given up.

He hates himself for it, but he's given up. Jigsaw is an arm's length away, and still completely out of his reach. And Adam's accepted it.

He's never been able to accept that Lawrence loves him. Not enough to allow him to say it, at least. But this, he accepts. The irony.

There's vomit on his shirt. He hasn't eaten a lot today, so it's not much, and Adam isn't really bothered by it, he's grown up between too many sinks where little cockroaches run around to think about it.

It's really the way it happened that annoys him. And it was that way that also forced him to stop fighting, since at that point, it was so obvious that he'd lost. And it wasn't even he who chose to lose, it was his reflexes. His body.

His unreliable, weak fucking body.

He hadn't been able to stop himself. When he saw Lawrence, so scared and so confused, but still trying to gather up the shards of his medical knowledge, how his pale fingers fumbled across Allison's chest, the rusty scalpel, and the blood that poured in little streams, dripping, staining, tainting, down on her shirt and on Lawrence's helpless hands…

It'd been unavoidable. His guts had turned into a knot, and he'd bent over, bent over for that sick fuck and hurling Fruit Loops until he could finally straighten up, shivering, pale, with mucus on his chin.

"Don't you have any fucking cameras down there?"

Adam doesn't have the energy to scream anymore. It comes out as a grumpy muttering.

"Where?" Jigsaw asks.

"In the basement."

Jigsaw shakes his head.

"No."

"So how the hell do you know she's going to make it?"

"I don't."

Adam makes a hollow laugh.

"How sweet. I thought the whole deal with these traps or whatever the fuck you call them was that people are supposed to learn to appreciate their lives, right? And what the hell happens to the ones that get mowed down on the way? Huh? If Allison dies, why didn't she get a fucking chance to appreciate her life? Well, it's because _Lawrence _has to learn to, and if his ex-wife dies as a cause of it – too bad! Just a human error! Could happen to anyone! Right?"

Jigsaw doesn't seem to hear him, and Adam wants to kill him just because, until he starts talking again.

"Tell me about yours and doctor Gordon's first kiss."

Adam just stares at him for a few seconds.

"What?"

"Tell me about yours and doctor Gordon's first kiss."

Adam scoffs.

"You're fucking mental."

"Are you going to tell me?"

Adam rolls his eyes. Thank you, God, for giving me the strength to be sarcastic when I need it the most.

"If you want something to jack off to, why don't you just get some regular porn?"

Jigsaw stands up with a weak moan. He walks up to the back of Adam's chair, Adam sees something glisten in the corner of his eye, just a moment of horror manages to run through him like a cold bolt of lightning

_my god for a moment I forgot that he had that my god_

before the pain is like acid that eats away at the place where arm turns into shoulder, and it's deep, the stiletto squeaks against his bone, metal floats into his mouth when Adam bites his lip, won't scream, he'll keep that much of his dignity, and he's not looking, it's still an image on his retina of how the flesh on his arm splits so that the white bone shines through, how the blood trickles down, drips from his elbow in an even river, looks like silk.

He won't scream. He won't make a fucking sound.

Won't even whisper Lawrence's name. Desperately. Like a prayer. As much as he wants to.

Jigsaw wipes off his knife on Adam's jeans. Adam gets filled with a strong urge to kick him, or at least lift his hand to the wound that's turned from a burning agony to a still, pricking throbbing.

"Tell me about yours and doctor Gordon's first kiss," Jigsaw says in a sigh and sits down on the bed again.

"Lawrence," Adam hisses. "And give me a goddamn minute, okay? I'm fucking groggy, give me…"

He stops talking.

Adam's lying. He remembers that night as well as it's possible to remember stuff that happened when you where hammered.

But then again, it's pretty easy to remember a night you've loved more than you love yourself ever since it happened.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence floats in and out of Adam's vision. Adam tries to focus his gaze on him, but it's hard. _God, _he's so drunk, he's warm and giggly and happy in a way he's never really been able to be, not even before… That.

Lawrence smiles gracefully and pries a bottle out of Adam's hand. Adam isn't sure if he's been drinking, but he doesn't think so. Lawrence would never do that. Never careful brilliant Lawrence Gordon.

"No more drinking now," Lawrence says and puts a hand on Adam's shoulder.

"Fuck you," Adam giggles and tries to take the bottle back, but Lawrence lifts it over his head. Adam feels like a kid that tries to take his cap back from the big guys, and it's for no purpose, because he still can't reach the damn bottle.

"Adam," Lawrence says in that voice, the calm-down-now-little-boy-voice that Adam's learned to recognize even though they've only known each other for a month or so. "You'll have a hangover that could take _me _down tomorrow as it is. Promise me you won't drink anymore."

Adam tries again to fix his gaze on him to check how serious he is. But Lawrence keeps swimming around, spin in circles along with the apartment. But even when he's moving, Adam can discern the furrowed brows, the intense eyes, the hand that squeezes his shoulder.

Lawrence is serious. And Adam can't talk back at that son of a bitch when he's serious. And not very often when he's joking, either. It annoys the hell out of him.

"Okay," he mutters reluctantly.

He doesn't like it when people tell him what to do. Especially not when he doesn't even have the balls to disagree.

Lawrence smiles.

"Good. And I think I'll stay the night. You'll need someone to make coffee for you tomorrow."

Adam waves his hand dismissingly.

"Like hell you are. I can take care of your… _my_self."

"I know that. That wasn't why I offered it."

"You don't have to offer anything. You're going to work tomorrow, I'm sure there'll be some drunks there you can look after if you get restless."

Lawrence chuckles and draws Adam closer to him.

Draws Adam into the warm security of the fabric in his shirt, of his dull heartbeats against Adam's cheek. And it doesn't bother Adam nearly as much as he'd liked, because right now, Lawrence's chest is the only solid point in a living room that spins around, again and again, and he nuzzles into it, inhales the scent of antibiotics and closes his eyes, his one arm sneaks up and coils around Lawrence's waist. And without Adam even noticing it, he slides into a condition of feeling like he's closer to Lawrence than he's ever been to any of the girls that he's still been _inside _of.

"Why would I take care of any of the drunks at work when I can take care of you?" Lawrence mumbles into Adam's hair.

He doesn't know how this happened. And he doesn't think about it, because he doesn't want to know. Hell, he's _married, _of course he doesn't want to know why he suddenly feels so insanely attracted to a _man _that he'll probably explode if he doesn't get closer to him soon.

"Because some of them might be girls," Adam murmurs and moves his head so that his nose rests against Lawrence's neck. "Are they drunk enough, they might jump in bed with you."

Adam isn't sure how it happens after that. His mouth is so close to Lawrence's either way, it wanders those last inches without his permission, up to those lips, anxious, longing, and not satisfied at all by the light graze that's the only thing Adam allows himself to make, but it's still enough for both of them to come to their senses.

Adam straightens up. Not even the alcohol can suppress the thoughts that bounce around in his head like ping-pong balls.

_He's married. He has a daughter. He's a man. He's married. He has a daughter. He's a man. _

"You should go either way," Adam mumbles.

He's an idiot. Or he's very smart. Either way, Lawrence nods, despite the fact that he's blushing and has a confusion in his expression that doesn't suit him at all.

But Adam still manages to catch the hunger in Lawrence's eyes before he gets up.

Adam stands up, too. Lawrence takes his coat that's thrown over the armrest on the couch and looks at him. Neither the hunger, the confusion nor the blush has disappeared, not from his face, not from Adam's.

"Bye," Lawrence says insecurely.

It almost sounds like a question. Adam raises his hand.

"See you."

Lawrence nods again. Just for a second, all the walls between them melt, the walls of sensibility, Lawrence's marriage and his need for control, and they just stare at each other, before the walls are replaced with something else, something that makes Lawrence take two big leaps forward and take Adam's chin with two fingers, force his face up and kiss him again, more than before, bigger than before, deeper and hungrier, hungrier for something that can only be soothed by Adam's tongue that slips in between Lawrence's teeth, his tiny hands on the back of Lawrence's head, Lawrence's hands that find Adam's hips before he pulls back again. Lawrence almost looks like he's going to cry. Adam stares at him sternly.

"Lawrence," he says, almost firmly. "Go. Now."

"Adam…"

"No," Adam says and shakes his head violently. "You're married, remember? Married. And I won't come between you two. Never. Now, go."

Lawrence doesn't even try to disagree. He's just as bad as arguing with Adam, even about the smallest things, as Adam is with him, so he just does his best to collect that reasonableness that he clutched to so desperately when he turns around and walks out the door. Adam closes it behind him.

He doesn't really get why he closes it. He already knows he's doomed.

He'll never be able to be without Lawrence now, hell, he _loves _that fucking doctor, he might as well give in right now, he can give in to that dark red, pounding thing that's placed in the bottom of his stomach.

So he does.

Adam takes a deep breath, thinks that everything can just go to hell, tears the door open and walks out, takes a few steps down the stairs towards Lawrence's back.

Lawrence turns around when he hears Adam. He doesn't really have time to wonder what he's doing, doesn't have the time to reflect over why Adam's eyes are black with something that almost looks like anger before Adam grabs his shirt, more or less drags him up the stairs, pushes him back into the apartment and slams the door shut behind them.

Doesn't have the time to ask Adam what the hell he's doing before Adam's hands are on his shoulders, he presses him up the wall next to them so hard that Lawrence gasps, and their lips find each other again, Adam's tongue fills Lawrence's mouth for a second before he pulls back again and looks at him with those black eyes.

"We shouldn't do this," Adam mumbles and moves his hand from Lawrence's shoulders to his hair.

"I know."

"It's wrong."

"I know."

"Adultery."

"I know, I know," Lawrence says impatiently, grabs Adam's shoulders, spins around, almost like in dancing, and presses Adam up the wall himself.

He doesn't like not being in control. And since he's so far beyond control now, he takes what he can get his hands on, both of Adam and of his dignity.

But he has to work to get it, because apparently, there's more force in Adam than Lawrence thought could fit into such a small person. Adam presses against him, his heat streams into Lawrence with a lustful aggression, despite the hard grip Lawrence has on him, he doesn't seem to intend to give up the fight at all, he's so damn proud, after all, but eventually, he seems to melt against Lawrence's body, accepts the hands that roam under his shirt, downwards, over his hips, his thighs, between them, on that place where he so desperately wants them, but isn't sure that he's allowed to have them.

Adam makes a sound that almost sounds like a growl when Lawrence uncertainly hooks two fingers in the rim of his jeans, his hands already struggle to get Lawrence's shirt away, it annoys him, he wants him, he _needs _him, he _needs _the fucking doctor with him, without fabric, without common sense, just the two of them, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, with lips and tongues and lustful moans until they're both laying on the couch with their arms around each other and Adam searches blindly for cigarettes on the table next to them.

It's probably never taken Adam shorter time to get what he wants.

He's so used to what he wants being out of his reach that he can't even accept that this, what he wants more than anything in the world, actually is his. Not now and not ever.

**Kind of slashy… Well, you definitely deserved it, suffering through so much blood and gore in the last chapter. REVIEW!**


	7. The Monster Within

**A/N: ****Hey there! I've FINALLY gotten my act together and written an update on this thing! Sorry about the wait… And even though there's no SLASH in this chapter, there is… ADAM-ANGST! **

**7: The Monster Within **

Adam silences down. Jigsaw, on the other hand, hasn't said a word, hasn't taken that mask of insensitivity off his face once during Adam's story. Like he doesn't hear him.

Like he doesn't care at all about how beautiful the thing he's now tearing into shreds once was.

Adam feels like hitting him. Okay, he's felt that since he got her, no, he's felt that for the past year, but now, he really feels it, pure and icing and vibrating, gets past the pain in his arm, as overwhelming, piercing as the lust he felt for Lawrence that night he just told about.

Hatred is cold. Fear is cold. Adam's sweating, but his teeth are chattering, his fingers are stiff and chilling, because he's so damn cold. So damn hateful.

And the remorse for that makes him even colder.

Because he doesn't want to hate. Lawrence wouldn't have wanted him to hate.

That was another thing that made him feel like the child in their relationship. He was the one who kicked and screamed, the one that threw things into walls, tore at his own hair, clawed his own arms until warm little drops dribbled down his cold fingers, the one who lifted a toilet lid, didn't think, didn't regret, only hated, only hit, only hit, only killed-killed-killed.

The one who couldn't even pretend like he didn't have bad dreams. Couldn't even pretend that when he was sleeping, Lawrence's screams bounced between the walls of his head, his bedposts turned into rusty pipes, the scar in his shoulder was torn open. Couldn't even pretend that he wasn't back in the bathroom.

And Lawrence.

Lawrence was the one who locked Adam's arms behind his back when he threw things into walls, the one who grabbed his wrist and pulled him down onto the cold tiles, the one who whispered, with his strong, mumbling voice: _Don't hate, Adam. _

But now, Adam hates. He hates Jigsaw, hates him for what he's done to Adam and what he's done to Lawrence, hates him with a dull, cold, icy hatred.

And not even Lawrence's warm hands are here to stop that now.

"Well," he says, annoyed, sick of the silence that seems to press against his eardrums. "What else do you want to know?"

Jigsaw lifts his gaze and looks at him. The first sign he's given this far to show that Adam isn't just white noise to him.

"So that was yours and doctor Gordon's first kiss?"

"Don't call him that!" Adam hisses, remembers the stiletto that glistened, the flesh that split, and quickly regrets his words of choice. "Or yeah, it was."

"And your relationship has kept going since then?"

"Yeah. Fuck, you know this stuff!"

No reply. Like talking to a

_(skull) _

wall.

"Do you love him?"

And there it is.

The question that Adam's feared more than anything else. More than the stiletto, more than Jigsaw, more than what happened to Allison when she'd gotten down to the basement, outside the cameras' view.

The question. The question he can't answer, simply because if he answers it, he has to _admit _that Jigsaw actually is right, or as right as you can be with that philosophy, that there's a reason he's here again, a reason to why he has to see Lawrence in black and white, out of Adam's reach and out of his own control.

If he answers this, Jigsaw will go from being a bitter, vengeance-filled psychopath to someone with a purpose.

Someone who sees beyond people's masks, sees their soar spots, sees them tremble with fear and insecurity, raises his stiletto, stabs.

And Adam can't handle that.

So he doesn't answer. Doesn't even try.

"Do you love him?"

Adam's eyes travel down to the floor. And Jigsaw takes that as an absolute rejection, so he heaves himself back onto his feet, with a cringe that draws like a cloud over his blank face, and takes that fucking stiletto out again.

Once again, Adam doesn't look. Once again, he wants to seem indifferent, but he can't keep a low whimpering from rising in his throat when he once again first feels nothing, then nothing, then something warm that runs down his upper arm, just below that first wound where the blood has started to cake, and then, that pain engulfs him, burning and pricking and warm, and what worries Adam the most is that that's the only place on his body that's warm right now. He's not just cold from the hatred, that heat that pours out of him is his life, and it goes away, dissolves in the whirl that the room has turned into before his gaze.

"Are you ready to answer me now?" Jigsaw asks calmly, and leaves a red, thin triangle over Adam's t-shirt when he wipes his knife off on it.

"Fuck you," Adam hisses and blinks some stubborn tears away.

"Adam," Jigsaw says, with a new sternness now, like he's correcting a little child. "I don't _like _cutting you. But you are, despite your relationship with doctor Gordon, just as angry as before, and just as bad at handling it. So I cut you to make you tell me: Do you love doctor Gordon or don't you?"

Adam blinks. He blinks and he blinks and he tries to close his throat down all together, but nothing helps. The tears rise, drip down, and he doesn't have the energy to fight anymore, today's pain, loss, hatred, fear, _such fucking big fear _finally gets too much, and Adam cries, helplessly and reluctantly, and he does it in front of Jigsaw and he hates himself for that, but his hatred isn't as important anymore.

Lawrence is important. He, and nothing else, is important.

And Adam might never see him again.

And if now is the last time he sees Lawrence, now, when it's not even for real, but on a blurry screen, Lawrence will never know how much Adam loves him, he'll never know that Adam really is broken inside, but without Lawrence, the brokenness isn't even something he can endure, he'll never know that Adam would go through all of this, all the pain and all the suffering that he's been through today, over and over again, if only he can lay down in Lawrence's arms every night, if only he can feel those lips against his own again, if only he… Gets to feel loved.

Lawrence will never know that.

Because Adam didn't dare to tell him.

Adam didn't dare, because he was afraid of being let down. Just like all the other times he's loved someone. Dared to love someone.

Jigsaw still doesn't even flinch. Adam's dry sobs just seem to slip around on his harsh shell without getting through to him, but Adam still feels, in some way, that this is something he's waited for since he brought him here.

"Do you love him?"

Once more. The tone is a little softer, but Adam doesn't hear that.

He's too busy gathering up the pieces of his voice, swallow them, make them stick in his throat, form words with his cold lips.

The blood is pouring. And he doesn't want to get cut again.

"You know I do."

Quietly. Like a plea. And Jigsaw nods.

"Yes. I know that."

Pause. Adam's blood is starting to drop onto the floor, and he's cold. It shouldn't be physically possible to be this cold.

"Why haven't you told him?"

Adam swallows again. It burns, and he's cold. He's so cold, and everything's darker, everything's blurrier, even though there are only two wounds that gape like mouths on his left upper arm.

And he admits.

The pain from that, the pain from his definite defeat, can't possibly sting as much as the cuts, the sight of Lawrence on the TV-screen, the memories from his childhood that's stirred up inside of him from what he's about to say. So he admits.

"Because… I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"I was afraid that he'd leave me."

"Why?"

"Everyone leaves me."

The answers just run out of him as easily as the blood out of his arm, faster than his frozen brain manages to even register the questions. He teaches himself stuff in the same time as he teaches Jigsaw.

"Who's left you?"

"Mom."

True.

The tears are pouring.

"Did you love her?"

"Yes."

"When did she leave you?"

"When I was sixteen."

"Why did she leave you?"

"Because she had to."

Bounce, bounce, questions and answers jump back and forth between them in the speed of light. And the tears pour even more violently down Adam's face now, as he actually remembers.

Because he'd forgotten.

He'd actually forgotten that it wasn't his mom that left him, but he who left his mom.

He'd forgotten what happened that summer night thirteen years ago.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Adam!"

She's running towards him, her black hair is flying behind her, the mascara's running, those eyes that everyone says Adam's inherited from her are clouded with fear.

Adam knows that she wants to save him. But the truth is that the eyes scare him as much as the thing that's chasing her, simply because he knows that when his mom looks like that, it really is bad.

Samantha Faulkner isn't supposed to be this way. She's not supposed to flee, she's not supposed to be scared, she's not supposed to grab Adam's arms so hard that her fingers leave marks.

Adam's mom has always been The Collected One. All those nights when her husband has drunken too much, she's the one who helps him into bed. All those times when he leaves his hands in red prints on her face, she's the one who, with no complains, puts makeup over the bruises before Adam wakes up.

Adam's mom is the one who, when people ask her, calmly and elegantly looks them in the eye and says that yes, her husband's an alcoholic. Yes, he's abusing her. Yes, she's afraid of him and yes, she should leave him, but she doesn't dare. She's going to get her son out of this if the situation gets unmanageable, because yes, he's all she's got, and yes, she loves him more than anything else on earth and she doesn't want to let him into the cold, harsh world she's so familiar with unless she has to.

So now, when his mom is as terrified as he is, Adam knows that the situation is unmanageable weather he likes it or not. He's always known that this moment would come, mom has talked about it those days when dad's collapsed on the couch, she's brought Adam to the front porch, taken his face between her warm hands and said that he's going to have to leave her at some point.

Now is that time. And Adam hates that.

"Adam! You have to run away!"

Adam doesn't know what he's supposed to answer. He opens his mouth and closes it again, sees his mother's terrified, flickering gaze and hears his father slam a door open inside.

"_Sam!" _

Mom glances over at the house. Then looks at Adam again, shakes him a little.

"Adam," she says, and now, her voice is all I'm-in-control-now-firm again, but for once, it doesn't make Adam one tiny bit calmer. "He's been drinking. A lot. More than usual. You have to run away from here, do you understand?"

Adam can't answer. His throat has been clogged up.

He can't even cry.

Can't even cry when he leaves the person he loves more than anything in this world.

"Run to Fred's," mom says and talks about Adam's best friend. "Stay there until I call you. I stay here and make sure that dad doesn't follow you. It's better that way."

And then, she wraps her slim arms around Adam's neck and hugs him, tightly, tightly, like never before, and Adam feels every rib in her body, feels her tears in his hair and suddenly knows that she's lying.

Suddenly knows what she knows, too. Unless his father drowns in his own vomit, or something, he'll never see his mom again.

"I love you."

He's never said that before. The words don't sound like his own, maybe because his throat is still filled with gravel.

"I love you, too," his mom says, and her voice shakes too much to be in control now. "Run! Now!"

And Adam runs, without wanting to and without looking back, look at the first and only woman he's ever loved, because he doesn't know what else to do, knows that he still wouldn't see her because the tears are running down, gushing, big and heavy and hot, gushes down because he knows that this image of his mother, red-eyed, with the mascara like black stripes that cross the bruises in her face, is the image that'll be etched onto the back of his eyelids for the rest of his life, because it's the last one he'll ever get.

Adam runs. He doesn't run to his friend, he just runs, until the sunrise paints a thin line over the horizon, and he passes out by the edge of the road.

**Ah, Adam… I just can't give him a break! Don't worry, though, Lawrence will be tortured again soon! But only if you review… **


	8. The Ghost Of Naomi Watts

**A/N: YAY! Another update! I know I've been slacking a lot with the wonderful art of fanfiction lately, so I figured I wouldn't be a complete snail with this one, for what it's worth…**

**8: The Ghost Of Naomi Watts**

Now, Adam is silent again.

The tears are pouring. Pouring even more violently.

He'd forgotten about his mother.

He'd forgotten that Lawrence wasn't the first one he ever loved.

In some way, his mom and his dad had floated together in his mind, his mom's grey eyes that smiled even though they were encircled with bruises had floated together with the monster that his dad sometimes turned into, that the beer turned him into.

The most amazing woman he'd ever met had floated together with the one who ruined him. Made him this way.

Because Adam really is broken.

It's barely even a figure of speech. It's like a chair or a TV. It's broken. He's broken.

"So your father was an alcoholic?" Jigsaw asks plainly.

Adam's first instinct still is to tell him to shut up. But the open, gaping wounds on his arms are grinding, throbbing, burning, reminding.

"Yeah."

"Did you meet your mother after that?"

Adam shakes his head.

"Did he kill her?"

He's asked another one of The Questions. And this time, it's not a question that scares the hell out of him, but a question that's no one dared to ask Adam in fourteen years, not the cop that questioned him a week later, not his older brother that Adam met years later on a bar, not even Lawrence when they got into the subject of Adam's family.

But Jigsaw can do it.

God, Adam hates him so much.

"Mm."

"Did you meet him after that?"

Adam shivers.

He's so cold.

But in reality, that shivering is more than anything an attempt to shrug off Jigsaw's question, shrug off those damn memories it brings, why the hell does he have to stir up everything that has only been a squishy, disgusting bottom in the lake that is his soul, why would he bring everything up when Adam has tried so hard to forget it?

Because now, he remembers again.

The last time he saw his father.

They needed someone to identify the perpetrator.

So they, not his mom, had called Adam, when he was Fred's, who's mom had found him sleeping in a ditch the morning after That Night. They'd called him and asked him to come down to the police station.

They had a suspect for the murder of Samantha Faulkner. Her husband. That was Adam's father, right? So all he had to do was to come down to the station, look at the man they'd caught and say if it was his dad. He could do that, couldn't he?

No one had told Adam that his mom was dead.

The way he found out about it was that a cop asked him to tell them if the man that killed her was his father.

So Adam had gone down to the station, more out of shock than anything else, and they'd sat him down on a chair. He'd had a label on his chest. He'd sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair with a phone next to him and a glass board in front of him, and he'd waited.

And on the other side of the glass, they'd brought in his dad.

He'd worn an orange overall. He'd been in handcuffs. A cop had had a firm grip on his shoulder, he'd kept his head down but not at all in a shameful way. More like he didn't think that the little punk on the other side of the glass was worth his attention.

The cop that held his shoulder had put him down on a chair in front of Adam.

Only a board of glass had separated Adam from the man that had killed his mother.

Adam remembers how his dad had looked up when the cop had let go of his shoulder.

Adam had stared into those eyes.

The cop that had brought his dad in hadn't even asked if it was the right guy. That one moment of eye contact was proof enough.

That one moment when Adam looked into his father's eyes, and didn't see a smidge of compassion, not a smidge of love, not even the tiniest wish to reach through the glass that separated them and touch him.

Only hatred.

Only pure distain.

Only a few words. Only a few words for a goodbye.

_I refuse to let you make me guilty, you little piece of shit. You're just the product of a condom that I'd had in my wallet for too long, and that fucking little whore that you keep bitching about sucked at fucking, hell, it's a miracle that she managed to squeeze enough com out to conceive you. And if you give me some beer I'd do it again, any fucking day of the week, you hear me?_

And the cop had taken him out again.

Adam could say that. If it had been Lawrence who asked. If it had been his warm, blue satin eyes that had looked at him instead of those cold, cold ice eyes that he now avoids with all the little energy he has.

"Once," he says, instead. "They wanted me to identify him."

"Was he dead, too?"

"No. Just charged."

Jigsaw nods.

"Tell me how you remember your mother, Adam."

And now, Adam could tell him about the picture of his mom that pops up in his head, the picture of her, newly awakened, ruffled and unmade in the pale morning light, her weary smile above the coffee cup when she sat with Adam out on the porch, the sun was coming up, turned her dark hair into black gold.

That memory is one of the happiest ones from his childhood. Just the memory of having breakfast with his mom, with no suppressed sorrow, no made up bruises. That's his happiest childhood memory.

Not afterwards. But that moment was the happiest one in his current ten year-old life, and he knew it was the same for his mom.

His dad hadn't come home that morning. He'd gone out drinking the night before, and Adam hadn't woken up in the middle of the night from a door that was slammed open, glass that was broken, a beautiful woman that was knocked to the ground.

His dad hadn't come home. And right then, Adam, even as a child, had been filled with the sadistic hope that he wouldn't come home at all anymore, that he'd found a new wife to beat up, that the police had caught him, that the goddamned son of a bitch that always made mom look so sad had _died, _but of course, life wasn't that easy.

They'd found him that same day.

Because he'd just passed out on the street. Of course.

And Adam remembers, no matter how much he's tried to block this out, too, that when the phone rang and the police asked his mom to come down to the station and pay two hundred bucks to release a man that claimed to be her husband, that glitter he'd seen in her eyes that morning disappeared, never to return again.

He remembers that. And he could say that, but instead, he clears his throat and mutters:

"Depressed. Sad. She was sad all the time, but she never allowed me to see it. She put makeup over her bruises and cried in the bathroom."

Sobs from the closed bathroom door. The crack in it from his fists.

Another memory.

"Was she beautiful?"

Adam doesn't have the energy to question him.

"Yeah. She was. When I was alone with her."

"And you said you loved her once."

"Yeah."

"The last time you saw her."

"Yeah."

"Even though you loved her all along."

"You got a fucking problem with that?"

He wants to shout it. But the stinging in his arms is like a weight on his vocal cords, a subconscious force, a suppressed, childish _please-don't-cut-me-again _that quiets him down, and Jigsaw doesn't even pretend to hear him.

"If you could turn back time," he continues indifferently, "and been able to tell doctor Gordon how much you love him before he went to work this morning, would you do it?"

"Yes."

There's no energy to deny, either.

"How come you only dare to tell people that when you think you'll never see them again?" Jigsaw asks. "If doctor Gordon was hit by a truck on his way to work, wouldn't you want him to die with the knowledge that he was more than a fling to you?"

"He _knows _I…"

His voice is so weak.

The words _love him _can't even fucking get past his lips.

"Does he?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

Adam sighs faintly.

Everything he wants to do loudly and theatrically just come out in little bursts.

Maybe because his powers are fading away. He feels them throbbing out of his body along with the blood.

"_You _know it," he says, almost pitifully. "And no matter how much you've been whacking it while you watch us making out, he still should know it better, since he's kind of there when it happens, you know?"

Jigsaw doesn't even stand up this time, he just throws his arm out with a surprising amount of force for someone who can't even walk without bitching and moaning, and the cut gets as deep as the other two, and Adam bleeds, he doesn't look but he feels, feels the warmth that pours and burns and pounds and sticks his t-shirt to his body when it runs down his side, it hurts, _god, _it hurts, he _hears _how much it hurts, it roars and beeps in his ears, and in his head, a scream, his own voice that screams Lawrence's name, screams _LawrenceLawrenceLawrenceLawrenceLAWRENCE_

And so, this gets up his throat. Not as a scream, but in little whispers, like helpless pleas.

"Lawrence Lawrence Lawrence…"

Lawrence is on the screen in front of him, he's been there for almost an hour now, but he's too far away, too far away to fix Adam with his doctor hands, too far away to kiss away the pain, too far away to hear Adam telling him with he's never said, what rings in his head every time he sees Lawrence but that he's never let him know.

Jigsaw smiles. He smiles and turns into a skull again, the sick bastard. And he keeps talking like nothing happened.

"Let's hope doctor Gordon makes it through this. I really want him to know that you love him."

Pause.

"What would you do if he were here right now?"

"What time is it?" Adam asks.

His reflexes have taken over now. His body has broken down and so has his brain, it's only his impulses that manage to get past the pain, the cold, the fear.

Jigsaw looks at his watch. Like he was a real person.

"Seven thirty."

Adam nods.

"I… I've bought tickets. We were going to see a movie tonight. It starts right now."

"What were you going to see?"

"'Funny Games.' Have you seen it?"

Jigsaw shakes his head. Adam nods again. He has no idea why he keeps doing that.

"It's… With Naomi Watts," he goes on. "Damn, why couldn't you have kidnapped me tomorrow, I really wanted to see her… Naomi Watts is probably kicking ass in this movie. She's good at this stuff."

"Do you like her?"

Adam nods.

"Not… Not just because she's beautiful. She's just so fucking good, at least in roles like these… She's kind of good at playing… Sad, you know?"

Jigsaw smiles thinly.

"Like your mom?"

"Yeah."

"You like horror movies, don't you?"

"Mm," Adam mumbles.

The blood drops down on the floor. He sees himself moving, hears himself saying things, and he doesn't get why he does them, how he can possibly do it.

How can his body function normally when he's so frightened that he can't even feel his heart beating?

How can he talk about things he could talk to Lawrence about, something that could've been topic in front of the TV with pizza box in each of their laps, something he could tell someone he loves, with someone who's responsible for the scar around Lawrence's ankle and the stiffness in Adam's right shoulder, someone who's fault it is that Lawrence walks around on the screen in front of him?

Adam doesn't know. It probably something that goes right along with that 'once you're in the game, you're going to have to deal with the rules'-crap.

Even if you were forced into the game. Even if you've thought about ending the game, just take your jar of sleeping pills and end the damn thing, you're still in there. The game doesn't care if you like it or not. It just plays on.

Adam is in life. And even though he hated it for a while, even though he honestly, sincerely and truly wanted it to end so he could sleep, he'd never been able to sleep, you can't sleep to the sounds of your mom screaming, he's in it. And his body has gotten used to being in it, doing what it hates and what it loves.

What it loves, like standing with its arms around Lawrence's neck, feeling him breathing into Adam's mouth, feeling the heart that beats in unison with his own.

What it hates.

Like watching Lawrence cutting his ex-wife open, like hurling Fruit Loops over his t-shirt, like chattering his teeth and staring pleadingly at Jigsaw.

It's going to keep doing that. Even though Adam wants to lie down and cry, his body is going to go on, without his accord.

"Why am I telling you this?" Adam asks suddenly.

"Because you're scared," Jigsaw answers simply, but Adam shakes his head.

"No, that's not why."

He knows what he's like when he's scared. Hell, he's been scared all his life, of course he recognizes it. When he's scared, he doesn't want people to know it, so he pretends to be angry, he yells and curses, he tugs helplessly at the chain around his ankle, weather it's a real one or a figurative one. And he's scared now, but that's not why he's sitting with his tormenter and tells him about his favorite actress.

Jigsaw says nothing. The minutes go by, and when Adam starts to think that he's not going to answer at all, he says:

"You wish I was Lawrence."

Adam nods.

"Yeah. You're right."

He doesn't even think about the fact that Jigsaw didn't call Lawrence 'doctor Gordon.'

Maybe he finally sees the difference between these two sides of Lawrence.

Maybe he finally understands that if doctor Gordon were here, Adam would be even more afraid.

"Oh," Jigsaw says suddenly and looks at the screen. "I believe it's time for our second test."

A light has been switched on in his voice, like something interesting finally happens after listening to Adam's whining for forty-five minutes, and Adam would be filled with his usual urge to strangle him if all of his attention hadn't been turned to the TV in front of him, to Lawrence who's walking, with flickering eyes and blood on his hands, with Amanda next to him.


	9. Will I Ever Get To Tell Him

**A/N: Hey… It really has been forever since I updated this, hasn't it? Well, I blame the plot bunny. Damn thing kept clinging to my leg about these one-shots I had to write… Well, either way, I'm back, and it's time for Lawrence's second test!**

**A/N#2: I wish I could say that I thought of the trap in this chapter, but as everything else with this fic, I'm just putting pieces together. Anyway, it was jigsawl8n8 that thought of this thing, and I owe her big thanks. Darling, this one's for you!**

**9: Will I Ever Get To Tell Him **

"Are you ready for your second test, doctor?"

Lawrence doesn't look at her.

"Sure."

He sounds more indifferent than what should be possible with your ex-wife's blood on your hands, and Amanda scoffs.

"You know, you'd think you'd be a little more excited. I know that this isn't the way you planned to spend your night, but still. With every step you take, you get a little closer to get your pathetic life back. Your pathetic life and your pathetic Ada…"

It happens so quickly. Amanda doesn't even catch it.

Doesn't even have time to see that the ice that's coated Lawrence's eyes, the cold, apathetic absence, thin and chilling, like lithium encircling his pupils, disappears in a heartbeat, melts away in the fire that comes to life in his gaze, and Amanda's pressed against the wall, the rotten wood bends under the pressure of her back, and Lawrence's lower arm is pressed against her throat, blocks the humid air on the way down to her lunges, and her eyes are stuck in Lawrence's, Lawrence's eyes that are nothing like they used to be.

The fragile, nervously fluttering little angel's wings in them have become red, black, angrily heavy, scorches into her head.

_Devil. _

Just this one second, Lawrence is a devil, and his teeth are bared, his breath is husky and brief on Amanda's face.

"If you ever," Lawrence hisses, and puts even more weight on his arm, _"ever _mention Adam's name again, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Slowly. Too clearly, too clearly for Amanda to miss one single word.

And he's calm. That's what scares her. He doesn't threat, he promises.

And Amanda doesn't know what to reply. She can only hope that John doesn't see this, even though she knows that's stupid, there are cameras in the entire house, she knows that, and she can also make a quick judgment in her head that the best thing she can do is regain her power as quickly as possible, and the only way to do that is to nod and hope she doesn't look terrified.

Nod, let Lawrence drop her, and hope that the tables will turn when they enter the door in front of them.

Because Amanda was so happy. These past hours has been the happiest ones of her life.

She's seen Lawrence in the hospital. She's seen him in his lab coat, seen him talking to his interns, seen that softness that's like a blanket of velvet over his face when he talks to Adam on his cell phone.

Seen that all the while, every second of the day, he has that look on his face.

The look of I'm-in-control.

The friendly stone face. That expression that's so disgustingly calm and that she just dreams of shaking up.

The look that has just fallen off, like a mask, she's peeled away every layer of paint, bit by bit, during this day.

And she loves it.

It's a joy she's forgotten even existed. The sparkling, bubbling, wonderfully childish, but in the same time, purely evil in a way that only adults can feel.

That joy.

And she has a feeling it will only increase when Lawrence opens the door to the next room.

_But that's not very nice, Amanda, _a cold little voice in her head says. _That's not nice at all. The only way you can think of to take that calm mask off him was to strike at the thing he loves the most, the thing you knew he'd guard with his life, that he'd cut off his other foot for if he only could. _

_That's what you did. _

_And you know what it feels like when someone does that, don't you? _

Amanda pretends not to hear it. That voice tends to make it human those few times she hears it, and she hates that.

It's so comfortable to feel nothing, to have that icy, dull, carelessness like a thick armor over the cold, twisted, wrecked thing that is her soul.

But when she sees Lawrence's hand on the doorknob, when she hears his slow, quivering exhaling before he opens the door to an even bigger hell, it still feels like her soul isn't twisted enough to block out a sting of guilt.

Lawrence opens the door.

The panic is taking over.

The next room looks like something from a Tim Burton movie. Everything's glittering, harsh, merciless light from spotlights on the ceiling, reflects on glass, nails, keys, edgy things that hurt, cut, tear beautiful things to pieces, tear apart the life you once had. The life that other people think is pathetic but is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Lawrence knows Amanda smirks. He can hear it behind his back. And he knows that even if he hadn't been able to, his wordless gasp is a definite reason for people like her to do that. Weather he's aware of it or not.

The floor is a pool.

Or, a pool isn't the right word.

More like that pit inside of Lawrence's soul. That place where everything he's bottled up, every hidden aggression that's been like a stain in his mind over the years, every fear that he hasn't dared to admit, everything he wished that he'd told Adam while he was able to, every time he's wanted to break down and sob during this day but hasn't, has gathered up to cover an entire floor, just as sharp and dreadful as he hasn't acknowledged them as.

Just as sharp and dreadful as broken glass can be. At least when you know that you're going to have to dive into it.

Amanda's smirk gets wider. He hears it.

"Oh, for God's sake, don't look so damn scared," she says and stands up on her toes to speak directly into Lawrence's ear. "You only have to walk over the glass. And you have your fancy shoes, don't you? So if I were you, I'd be more worried about the walls."

Of course. Because the walls have knives sticking out of them, glistening dots on dark, dull wood, and right under the ceiling, there hangs a

_(glistening fucking hate that glistening) _

bundle of keys.

And Lawrence is going to have to climb on the knives to get the keys. And one of the keys leads to the door on the other end of the room.

Of course.

"To get your lover back," Amanda says.

Her voice is sweet, sticky honey in Lawrence's ear.

"Come on," Amanda continues coaxingly, sounding like she's talking to a kitten that she tires to make chase the string she drags on the ground. "We don't have all day. Especially not your pretty little boyfriend."

She tries to make it sound mocking.

But the truth is that she actually doesn't dare to say Adam's name again.

Lawrence nods.

He doesn't know what Jigsaw is doing to Adam. But no matter what it is, he knows it's painful enough for him to be stupid by standing and stare at the glass like an idiot before he's finally gathered up the courage to walk over it, it crunches under his feet, and then up to the knives.

They seem to stare at him. Cold tips of needles, sharp, right in front of his face.

_Adam… Oh, god, Adam…_

Maybe it's the memory of Adam that brings tears to his eyes. Finally.

Lawrence puts one hand on the blade of the knife right in front of his face.

_Adam… I never told you, I know, but if I get you out of here… I'll tell you every day, every day… _

"Tic-toc, Clarice," Amanda says coldly behind him, and Lawrence almost laughs.

"Go fuck yourself, Amanda," he says, almost merrily, and tries some weight on the blade he's holding.

Amanda does laugh, actually. And just like when she did in the apartment, when she was the one whole thing on everything that was broken, it sounds completely joyless.

"If I got the choice, I'd rather fuck your little toyboy. But start climbing already."

Lawrence doesn't want to do it on her command. But she's right, the clock is ticking, so Lawrence puts one foot on the blade closes to the floor, and it squeaks when it cuts into the sole of his shoe, but he stays put, he even puts his other foot on another blade, and by this, all his weight rests on the hand on the blade.

_This doesn't hurt so bad, _Lawrence thinks, and sees, kind of like it's a TV-show, how the blood starts running down his wrist, soaks his sleeves in thick, liquid crimson.

He has absolutely no idea why he thinks that way.

He has absolutely no idea why he keeps thinking that, even as he keeps climbing and his fingers are cut up more and more until the knives screech against bone that shines white through red flesh, why he keeps thinking that even though he feels the pain, white and hot and sort of beaming out through the blade, further out in his arms.

Maybe he tries to convince himself. But if he does, he succeeds pretty well.

He reaches the ceiling without even whispering Adam's name. More than once.

Lawrence gasps in relief when he can close his fingers around the keys, even though the cold, sharp metal stings in his wounds. He barely feels it, anyway, the pain drowns in the anxiety, and the anxiety mixes with the relief, and the emotions are too much, so when he lets go of the knives and falls clumsily on his back, onto the

_(crunch glass sharp pain) _

floor, and _god, _now he's bleeding all over, he has to roll over to his stomach, heave himself onto the hands that bleed, too, and vomit on the floor, he sees it seeping in between the shards, gets distorted and flat.

_Okay… It's okay now, it's…_

It's not okay.

The pain is a fire, it's acid that eats away at his body, and it's everywhere, _everywhere, _his back and his hands and his head and his throat and the tears are _gushing_ now, dribbles from the corners of is eyes.

And he has to save Adam.

That's the worst part. The biggest pain.

The biggest pain is to know that no matter what he goes through, Adam's probably doing even worse.

So Lawrence can't lay here and feel sorry for himself.

He can only stand up, on the _crunch-crunch _that is the ground, and stagger over to the door in the other end of the room.

The door is solid, and so is the lock. Lawrence feels oddly pitiful in front of it, especially since he's so dizzy that he has to do a few test-rounds before he can fit one of the keys into the lock, and damn, it doesn't even fit, and it takes him almost five seconds to get that.

He can't get it into his head. He stands there and presses the damn key against the lock for life-depending seconds before he gets it.

His head is full of Adam.

Adam when he's laughing at 'Scary Movie 4,' Adam when he's crying after a nightmare, Adam when he pretends not to be afraid of 'The Shining,' Adam when his eyes are closed and his moans are tumbling in a chorus from his chest.

The next key. Doesn't fit. Lawrence actually gets that after just three seconds, whop-di-doo.

And neither does the next key. It's just as fucking wrong as the thought of Adam, scared, in pain, maybe already dead, and not alone, not alone, he can't even have that, but he's with his greatest fear, he's with the reason to why he still wakes up crying, sweating, punching blindly into the air.

Two keys left.

Tears come to Lawrence's eyes again – or maybe they just never stopped – when he picks up the next key with slow, stupid, _stupid fucking fingers, _because he doesn't have _time, _doesn't have _time _to stand here and guess keys, he's in a hurry, Adam needs him, he's in pain, he's scared, don't you get that he's scared!

The next key doesn't fit, either. And there's a slight chance Lawrence has spoken this entire inner dialogue right into the door in front of him, he's not sure, and he doesn't care, either, because there's only one key left, and that one _has_ to fit, the relief from that is enough to make him forgive himself for any sign of insanity.

But it doesn't fit.

Lawrence has no idea why it is this way, since he knows that is _has _to fit, not even Amanda and Jigsaw can be evil enough to make him cut through half of his fingers without giving him any reward for it, let's be rational here, so the key has to fit, _has _to fit, if he just stands here and presses it against the lock, if he just stands here and sobs quietly and wants to kill Amanda badly enough, the key will fit eventually, you'll see, you'll see, _you'll see, Adam, I'll get to you if I just press the key against the lock… _

"Oh, yeah," Amanda says with a fake sigh behind him. "I forgot to tell you that. I lied, you actually do have to dig around a little in the glass to find the right key. But for what it's worth, you did a real good job with the climbing, so this shouldn't be that much of a problem for you."

Lawrence wants to kill her.

He wants to close his hands around her neck, he wants to squeeze until her eyes get bloodshot and she gasps for air, he wants to see life fade away from her.

But he doesn't do that.

On some level, he probably knew that the glass wasn't there for no reason.

So he only nods, more to himself than anyone else, and turns around.

The glass is merciless. Glittering. He looks at Amanda.

"Can you at least tell me a spot to start on?"

Amanda opens her mouth, but Lawrence lifts a rejecting hand.

"Never mind. You're just full of it, anyway."

Amanda smiles meekly.

"So you're finally learning, doc?"

She's quiet for a few seconds.

"The key is in the middle of the room. Don't believe me if you don't want to."

And Lawrence does it. He walks into the middle of the room, since that's the closest he's had to something he can rely on since he got into this house, and he kneels down, carefully, like he's worried of ruining his pants, even though every single thing he cares of is getting ruined this very day, and runs a hand over the glass with his already bloody hands, it leaves a red trail over the palely blue.

It hurts.

Good thing that he's so dreadfully regretful over everything he didn't tell Adam that he barely feels it.

And he starts digging.

It doesn't hurt so bad.

He doesn't allow it to hurt, he just shoves his hand into the sharp-glitter-pellucid and then throws them back, it rattles against the wall and the rest of the glass when shards fall down on them, and Lawrence bites his tongue, liquid metal floats out in his mouth because he so badly wants to keep from screaming, tries so hard not to even though the cold glass is salt in the raw, open cuts on his palms as he shoves his hand into it again, ignores the evil little voice that goes _and how do you expect to find something this way, doctor Gordon? _

Lawrence isn't sure. But either way, he waits for the second round of rattling to calm down before he dives in there with his hands again. Tears drop down, burning and salty, and land on the glass that's already covered in blood, it sort of breaks the deep color when the transparent tears mix with it.

Lawrence won't scream.

He screamed the last time. He screamed his way to insanity.

Screamed so that he barely heard Adam scream in the other end of the room.

And he so badly wants to believe that he's grown since then.

Dives in there with his hands again. Listens to the rattling, and…

And the rattle has an undertone.

Maybe it's like when you get blind and all the other senses are sharpened.

Maybe it's because the horror has made Lawrence blind that he actually hears the metallic _clink _against the concrete wall behind him in the middle of the rattling of the glass.

Lawrence straightens up, with no further hesitation, even though everything spins around and even though the only thought in his head is _AdamAdamAdamAdamAdam _and even though the crunching ground has turned into butter or something, that's the only explanation to why it's floating around under his feet, and walks up to the wall.

The key is lying on top of the glass that's piled up against the wall. Lawrence picks it up, and pretends not even noticing Amanda standing by the door they came in through, but just walks up to the other door, presses the key against the lock a few times and manages to get purely, utterly terrified before he realizes that the reason why it doesn't fit is that his hand is shaking and he has to grab his wrist with his other hand before he manages to get it in there.

The key fits. Lawrence turns it, and the lock unlocks.

_The key to my piece of mind. _

For some reason, that's the only thing that comes to Lawrence's thoughts.

Okay. Okay.

The good thing is that it can't possibly be worse now.

Lawrence turns to Amanda. Her sharp red lips are twitching, forms a small smile. It looks so innocent that if Lawrence hadn't know that there is nothing in her moving, nothing beating in her chest, no _lovely little thump-thump, _as Adam calls it when he's drunk, nothing except for cold, cruel, stone, he might've thought she was just an ordinary girl.

"Why did you tell me where it was?" Lawrence says. Or slurs.

"Dunno," Amanda says with a shrug as she walks over to him. "Guess I just liked the thought of doctor I'm-in-control bending over wherever I tell him to. Shall we?"

She opens the door. There's a long, dark corridor on the other side.

"And take this," Amanda says, takes a cell phone out of her pocket and places it in Lawrence's bleeding hand. "You'll need it in a little while."

And Lawrence starts walking down the corridor, with Amanda behind him, without knowing that the one thing that actually _can _get worse starts the second he puts that phone in his pocket.

**I figured a long update was a decent excuse for how long it's been… And please, show your forgiveness by reviewing! **


	10. Unspoken Words

**A/N: YAY! Another long chapter! Not because I waited that long with the update, but mostly because the next chapter is the last trap, and I wanted that to be a seperate chapter… Anyway, my darlings, enjoy…**

**10: Unspoken Words **

Now, Adam feels nothing.

He read somewhere that Jigsaw wants his victim to see as he sees. Feel like he feels.

Feel the rage, the fear, the bitterness that's turned him into a skull. And Adam understands that, and it worked with him. When he saw Allison's chest opening like a mouth, red and slippery, he felt it all. He felt fear and anger and he felt sorrow, but now, he feels nothing.

Now, he's empty.

He's as hollow as he was before the bathroom.

Because there's not point in feeling something.

Feelings are happiness, they're the slight irritation he feels when he and Lawrence are out of Cocoa Puffs, they're worldly little things that you feel outside, in the real world, the world he and Lawrence built up together, and he doesn't want to feel them right now, doesn't want to associate those two things more than necessary, and what feeling can be terrible enough to see what he just saw on the screen, what common fucking feeling can describe a scream that never ends?

_(maybe not a feeling but memories can memories of Lawrence) _

_don't_

_(when he climbs up when blood drops down one drop landed on a screw made it look like lipstick remember that Adam) _

_don't PLEASE don't_

_(remember when he fell backwards remember the crunching remember that it was) _

_PLEASE PLEASE _

_(all for you he did it for you he did it for you and you never even told him) _

_DON'T DON'T_

_(that you loved him you never told him REMEMBER THAT ADAM REMEMBER) _

"Don't…"

It comes out as a squeak. Jigsaw looks at him. Almost amused.

"You feel pretty powerless now, don't you?" He asks.

No. He doesn't. He feels nothing.

"And you want to get doctor Gordon back," Jigsaw says, states. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure you'll see him soon."

But Adam doesn't want to see him.

Lawrence is his comfort. Lawrence the love of his life, his home no matter where he is, he's the one who whispers into Adam's ear that he shouldn't hate. That's him.

The person on the screen wasn't Lawrence. And Adam doesn't want to see someone impersonating him.

"Until then," Jigsaw says and leans forward, "I have another question. And you don't really seem fit to answer it right now, but if you don't, I'll have to cut you. And unfortunately, your blood loss seems severe enough as it is."

Adam finally makes his eyes look at him. It takes what feels like his last powers, because he's tired. And by _God, _he's so cold.

Jigsaw's still sitting there. As a skull, but not grinning. His face is blank, and Adam hates that even more.

"If Lawrence was here," Jigsaw continues."What would you tell him?"

Adam swallows. Even though he doesn't have any saliva left.

That's hard to answer. His brain can't fit Lawrence into this room.

Almost as bad as it can handle the thought of another cut on his arms. And as Jigsaw said, they're bad enough as it is. They're as cold and stiff and dry as the rest of him, they seem to spread the mortality in him like a virus.

"Adam," Jigsaw says calmly. "I don't want to cut you. Answer me, please."

Adam makes a weak noise from the back of his throat.

If Lawrence were here, he wouldn't feel this way.

If Lawrence were here, he'd be home. The belts around his wrists and ankles would go away, his wounds would heal, Jigsaw would dissolve into the air like the ghoul that he is.

He'd be safe. And he'd never deny that only Lawrence could make him feel that way, never again.

It takes Adam's mind a while to register these thoughts. And when he finally parts his cracked lips, his voice sounds like someone else's.

"I…"

His voice is a string that snaps. But it's okay. It's okay. Start over.

"I… Never dared to tell him…"

The blood is caked now. The wounds are still throbbing, though.

"…How much I loved him," Adam says, and his voice is beginning to work again. "He… He was always there. He was the one thing that was always there. When I had nightmares and when I was afraid and when I was cold I was so cold and I was so _scared…"_

His words sound as foreign as his voice. But who cares.

Who the hell cares _one tiny little fucking bit _about what he says this now? Lawrence will sure as hell never hear this, because Adam's going to die in this room before he reaches him, and it's been stocked up for so long, they are that thing that has shaved in the bottom of Adam's heart like a stone in a shoe every time he looks at Lawrence, he has to say this now, and if he gets hurt, no one cares one tiny little fucking bit, either, because he got to be in love.

He got to experience it.

And nothing can be bad enough to make that time wasted.

He realizes that. Now. When it's too late.

"But he was always there," Adam goes on. "And he never got annoyed with me when I woke him up in the middle of the night and cried like a fucking baby. He just hugged me. Like I was, hell, I don't know, Diana or someone he'd always love no matter what, and then I actually thought for a little while that I wouldn't get hurt, that this could end well, that it _would…" _

He wants to cry. He thinks he should cry.

But maybe the tears, too, are too small to express this. Maybe he's dehydrated from the blood loss. Whatever.

It's all coming loose now.

Everything he wanted to say. Everything he bottled up and that he saved for Lawrence, but he's now telling the one person whom he knows really and truly wants to _hurt _Lawrence, the one person who's already done that.

It all pours out. He couldn't stop it if he tried.

"And… And I love him so much."

Big fucking newsflash.

He knew that he loved Lawrence. _Lawrence _knew that he loved Lawrence.

"I love him…" Adam chokes out. So dry and so cracked as his lips, there are fine little fractures in his words. "I love him more than anything in the world. He's… He's like a… Like a _God…" _

Sounds so stupid. Doesn't care.

"Like… He can do anything, and I'm not even worthy… I… I… Don't deserve him, and I… I couldn't tell him, because I thought he'd realize it one day, and he'd walk away, and I couldn't… I _couldn't…" _

Lawrence.

Lawrence in his head. Smiling, his blue eyes glistening, his warm hands on Adam's face.

When Adam realizes that those hands aren't there for real, he feels even colder.

"I _couldn't… _Tell him… Because I was so scared… But he was still… Wherever I was, I was home when I was with him, and everything felt… _Alive, _and I… I've never felt that way before, and I…"

And he just spews out the last sentence. Maybe because he's wanted to say that since he got here, has so desperately wanted to make Jigsaw understand, but he doesn't, of course, how on Earth could he ever understand.

"I'd give anything in the world just to see him again!"

He's panting now. He doesn't cry, but he's so cold, and so thirsty, his tongue is sticking to the floor of his mouth.

Jigsaw still doesn't move. His face is motionless, or maybe there's a small smile hidden somewhere in the wrinkles around his eyes.

"So my lesson hasn't been lost on you, at least?"

And then, the fear melts away.

The fear melts away from Adam's bones, and so does the sorrow, the unshed tears, the soft and the gooey and the vulnerable disappears from his body and is replaced with muscles, with strength, with fury, or at least the childish stubbornness that is Adam Faulkner.

And Jigsaw's face can't scare him anymore. Hell, he doesn't even see it, all he sees is red, all the fractures goes away from the voice when he starts talking again.

"'Lesson?'" He blurts out with hollow amusement. "You call this a fucking _lesson? _Sure! Why can't we call this a lesson! And you're the teacher, I assume! You're the teacher, and not a _fucking psycho _who spends half his days in a hospital bed and the other half jacking off to other guys making out!"

He throws out the word. Like they're rocks.

"And you're such a sweet guy, too!"

More rocks, at least he has one weapon.

"You do this because you want me and Lawrence to be _happy, _don't you? You don't just do it because you have cancer, and you couldn't even fucking kill yourself, because you can't do anything right! You don't do it because you're bitter that some people are alive and _happy! _Even if it's not according to the fucking manual! You don't just sit there and mope and think 'How _dare _those people be alive?' when you see us, you don't want to drag everyone down with you!"

Adam pauses. Because he has to catch his breath, not because he doesn't have anything else to say.

Jigsaw tries to keep his mocking stone face. And he succeeds, his face shows no emotions, sure.

But even Adam, dazed and vacant, can see both confusion over his sudden outburst and a slight sting from all the punches under the belt.

So Adam leans forward, as much as he can, he can even bore his eyes into Jigsaw's steel grey ones, he can even say the words steadily, simply because he's wanted to say it for so long.

"You're a fucking lying serial killer."

The words aren't stone this time. They're soft as velvet, but they're just as hurtful.

"You don't give a rat's ass about weather me and Lawrence appreciate our lives or not. And as for your own life…"

Adam pauses for effect. Even though he already sees pure hatred glistening like burning stars in Jigsaw's gaze.

"Trust me," Adam says calmly. "It is _not. Worth. Shit."_

Jigsaw doesn't even flinch. He never does, even though Adam knows he's hit a soar spot, no, not even that, he's hit the _only _spot, because Jigsaw only has one.

His will to live.

That's Jigsaw's only weakness. And he doesn't even show it.

Adam hates him.

Jigsaw doesn't even flinch at that, either, though. Which is weird, because Adam refuses to believe that his detest doesn't show. Jigsaw just opens his mouth again, the fury in his gaze is already gone, and says, as if Adam's said that he's cold or he's in love or something else that's obvious:

"I have one last thing you have to tell me."

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes, I do. Then I'll introduce you to your third and final test."

"I can't wait," Adam says. "Lay it on me, brother."

He doesn't hiss anymore. He doesn't hiss, simply because he's not angry.

His anger is his energy. It's either that or Lawrence.

Without any of them, this is him.

"Tell me about the last time doctor Gordon tried to tell you that he loves you."

Adam sighs. It feels like fire ghosting at the walls of his throat.

He just tells Jigsaw this time.

He'll die in here anyway. The bright light that flashes before his eyes is the only thing he has the energy to fight right now.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam immediately stands up when he hears the knock on the door. He doesn't get why Lawrence insists on knocking, he knows that Adam never leaves the house, but Adam doesn't mind. He likes the idea of Lawrence coming over spontaneously.

When he opens the door, Lawrence is indeed there. With a smile on his face that looks nothing like his usual one. This one is less polite doctor, more excited little boy who wants to tell his parents a secret. And that makes Adam smile back at him and raise his hand halfheartedly.

"Hey, man."

"Hey," Lawrence says and steps into the apartment.

Adam thought he'd get a kiss, but apparently not. Lawrence is standing in front of him in the living room after he's closed the door, and he seems determined to not do a thing before he tells him his secret. Adam looks quizzically at him.

"So, are you going to tell me, or should I just wait until your head explodes?"

Lawrence laughs, but it soon fades out. He takes one step closer to Adam, obviously on the brink of giggling like a teenage girl.

"I did it," Lawrence finally says breathlessly.

Adam cocks an eyebrow.

"What?"

"A divorce."

Oh. That.

Adam fins himself smiling in the same way that Lawrence just did.

"No way!"

Lawrence laughs and actually jumps up and down. Adam has to ask himself if this is the same man that left his house yesterday.

"I did it!" Lawrence repeats. "I signed the papers! And she did, too! And I'll live here with you! And Diana's going to come over sometimes, too, if that's okay with you!"

Adam's excitement goes away like someone's poured cold water on him, and he chuckles nervously and grabs Lawrence's shoulders to make him stay put.

_Look at that, _a cold little voice in his head says. _A wife and a kid. Seems like that nap you took on the couch today lasted for about ten years. _

Adam pretends not to hear it.

Pretends not to feel the tickling, stabbing feeling in his gut that this thought gives him.

Lawrence seems to notice it, though. His smile fades away, and Adam immediately gets guilty, but can't force himself to smile again.

He knows why Lawrence does this. Knows why he gives up everything, a beautiful wife and a beautiful house and a beautiful, perfect, _fucking _perfect life.

Knows that the reason he didn't do it before was that he knew what it was he gave up.

But now, Lawrence doesn't know that anymore. Because love is blind.

And Lawrence is in love.

With Adam.

"What is it?" Lawrence cuts off his thoughts. "Aren't you happy?"

Adam is, that's what's weird. He really is happy. But he's not certain if he's as happy as he is terrified.

"I…" Adam says with a chuckle and rakes his fingers through his hair, keeps his eyes on the floor. "Jeez, Lawrence…"

A sigh. Adam finds himself unaware if it's from him or Lawrence.

"This… _Why? _Why are we doing this?"

Any trace of joy in Lawrence's eyes disappears. Adam knows that, even though he doesn't look at him, at least not before Lawrence moves one step closer, puts two fingers under Adam's chin, forces him to look at him.

"Well, I don't know why you do this," Lawrence says, in an attempt to a stern voice, but he just sounds desperate. "But I do this, because… I want to be with you. I _love _you, Adam…"

Adam sweeps his hand away as the stabbing continues, stabs in his stomach, cold and icy and completely, utterly merciless, just as merciless as Lawrence's concerned eyes, though in a completely different way, and Adam draws in a quivering breath, tries to keep the tears away.

_Lawrence, _he thinks, still doesn't dare to look at him. _I love you, too. I love you more than anything in the world, I've loved you since that first makeout-sessions and I'll keep loving you to the fucking end of time. I love you so much that it hurts. _

_But how do I know you love me for real? _

_How do I know that you don't love me like mom loved me? That way that always ends with… _This?

_Always ends with me being such a complete damn chicken that I can't even look at you? _

Lawrence seeks for his eyes. Adam looks into the wall. The wall is okay, the wall can't hurt him.

"Adam…"

"No," Adam cuts him off, shakes his head, moves back. "Look, man, I'm completely for the moving in-thing, but… Don't say that. And don't give me that fucking look, I feel like such a jerk…"

He doesn't look at Lawrence. Still sees the ghost of a broken heart in the blue eyes, sees the furrowed brows on the wall next to him.

"Adam, just…"

"No!" Adam says, firmer this time. "Damn it, you knew this about me! Just… Just go, okay? And you can come by with your stuff and Diana and whatever you want later, but… I can't deal with this right now."

"I can't even tell you _that?"_ Lawrence blurts out to his right. "But you _know…" _

"Then what's the fucking point of saying it?" Adam cuts him off. "Just go! I know you do… _That,_ and that's great and all, but go now."

Lawrence sighs. But his expensive shoes still creak away to the front door, and then opens it, before they stop, and Adam feels Lawrence turning around and looking at him.

"I want to say it," Lawrence says clearly, but softly. "You know I do."

Pause.

"But if that's what it takes to be with you, I'll wait until you're ready."

Adam doesn't answer.

Partly because he doesn't know if he'll ever be ready. Partly because it's hard to talk when your throat is clogged up with tears, old memories and three little words that you so badly want to say.

**Aw, those two are such good angst-bitches… Well, anyway, REVIEW! And look forward to the next chapter, because that trap is, like, the only part of the whole damn fic that **_**I **_**came up with! GASP! **


	11. I'm Not What You Need

**A/N: Hey there! There's not much to say about this chapter, to be honest… The thing is, we're actually starting on the third and final trap, and that one's going to be so damn hard, I suggest I'll stop ranting and let you sweethearts read! **

**11: I'm Not What You Need**

Adam still doesn't cry. Once again, it seems like a reasonable thing to do, but he doesn't.

He's shaking, though. And he's cold, he can't move his fingers anymore, and that place in his chest where his heart usually is, where _Lawrence _usually is, there's just a black, hollow cave.

"And he hasn't tried to tell you since then?" Jigsaw asks.

Adam startles. He'd almost forgotten that Jigsaw was there, almost been so lost in the labyrinth of his memories that he'd never be able find a way out. Then, shakes his head.

"No."

"Have you wanted him to?"

Now, Adam has to think.

He wants to feel loved. That is true.

But in the same time, feeling loved, feeling loved and being in love is the scariest feelings he's ever felt. Simply because unlike a lot of people, he _can't_ take it for granted.

So many people have left him. And when you grew up constantly worried that your mom wouldn't be able to wake up in the morning, you can't assume that your lover will come home after work, either.

You can't watch him walk out the door without a gnawing anxiety in the back of your head.

Can't hold back the thoughts _what if he's been playing me, what if he'll go back to his wife, what if… _

And those thoughts do get too much.

Adam was so much in love. Lawrence was his everything, you only had to look at them together once to see that Adam would never be able to stop loving Lawrence until the day he died, he knew that.

And when it was so obvious that he was completely in Lawrence's mercy, that he was the one in disadvantage, at least he didn't want to say it verbally. He at least wanted that left. So he didn't want to say that he loved Lawrence, no.

If he said that, Lawrence would see his 'what if'-thoughts, too. He'd be aware of his leverage.

And if Lawrence said it to Adam, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from saying it back.

"No," he then answers.

"Really?" Jigsaw says, and if Adam had looked at him, he'd seen that he was almost smiling.

And it isn't in that way that makes him look like a skull.

Adam shakes his head.

"It'd been too scary."

Jigsaw nods.

"Adam," he then says, "You're not telling the truth. If doctor Gordon had gone through your entire relationship without telling you that he loved you, you would have gotten suspicions that he didn't."

"What the hell do you mean _'gone_ through your entire relationship?'" Adam bites back with an intensity in his voice that Jigsaw hasn't heard since he saw Lawrence climbing on those knives. "You think we won't make it? Or that we'll break up?"

Jigsaw doesn't answer, but if he had, he doubts that Adam would've listened to him, anyway.

"Hell no," Adam continues. "We're going to make it. Both of us. And for the record, you will _never _separate us. _Ever. _Not you and not anyone else, get it?"

Jigsaw tries to keep his face motionless. He still has the upper hand, sure, Adam's tied up with belts, and no witty tongue in the world will get him out of those. But that doesn't change the fact that Adam, just for now, actually has the power.

He has the power because he makes Jigsaw proud of him.

Makes Jigsaw proud over the fact that Adam has so obviously _learned _something.

That if he and Lawrence both make it out of this, Adam will say it every day. He will whisper it before Lawrence goes to work, plant a chaste kiss on his lips, and relish it when Lawrence says it back to him.

But Jigsaw doesn't show that. In fact, he pretends not to have heard Adam at all, because he knows that drives him crazy.

"Adam," Jigsaw instead says. "Do you realize that I break my pattern by putting you and Lawrence in this game?"

"What?" Adam says suspiciously.

Jigsaw nods again.

"I don't try to make your appreciate your life this time, to be honest. You love your life, I know that, and Lawrence does, too. But the question is: Do you appreciate your love?"

Adam almost laughs out loud.

"If you're actually saying that I take Lawrence for granted, you're so damn stupid that it's almost cute."

"I don't," Jigsaw says calmly. "In fact, what I _want_ is that you'll take doctor Gordon more for granted than you do now."

Adam rolls his eyes. He seems to have found his old self again.

"I should run off and fuck other people like the rest of your victims?"

"No," Jigsaw says. "But as it is now, you don't understand that he loves you."

Adam opens his mouth to talk back, but Jigsaw cuts him off.

"Sorry, that wasn't what I meant. What I meant was: You don't _trust _his love for you."

Adam opens his mouth again, and again, Jigsaw cuts him off. But that's probably might as well. He didn't know what he was going to say, anyway.

Because Jigsaw is right. Adam has always known that, even though he's never admitted it, either to himself or to Lawrence.

He loves Lawrence. He does. And he does know that Lawrence love him.

But it's just so damn obvious that he doesn't deserve him. It's a miracle that Lawrence hasn't realized it. Hell, he probably knows it on some level, too, he's a smart guy, of course he notices that people that pass them on the street look at Adam like they wonder what he had to pay for a guy like Lawrence, of course he gets that he should be with someone who gives him the moon and the stars, someone who's never week but always strong, someone who takes him out in the weekends and doesn't wake him up every night and cry over his nightmares. And he must've gotten that that's not Adam.

Must've gotten that that only works in their world, their world with the rough edges and the impossible passion, but that still is the most perfect world Adam's ever gotten.

But it will never work outside that world. And it would only take a second, one second of sensibility, one second when Lawrence thinks the way he used to do, and he'll realize that.

Realize how much he should have that Adam can't give him.

And Jigsaw knows that Adam thinks that.

"He does love you, Adam," Jigsaw says softly.

He touches a soar spot, more soar than the one Adam touched on him when he yelled before. And that's too much for Adam right now, he can't feel his arms as it is.

"I know that," he says.

He tries to scoff it out, but it just sounds pitiful.

"No, you don't," Jigsaw says and shakes his head. "You've said it yourself, you're afraid. And even if you hadn't told me, anyone can tell."

Adam hates him. He's right, and Adam hates him so much for that.

"Every time he's away from you, all you think about is how afraid you are that he'll never come back."

Hates him, hates him, hates him, and it makes Adam even colder.

"And even when he is with you," Jigsaw continues, "you're afraid that he'll walk away. You always sleep with an arm tightly wrapped around his waist because you're afraid he'll sneak away as soon as you close your eyes."

"Fuck you," Adam hisses.

Jigsaw is right. He's so right, and Adam still doesn't want to admit that, still doesn't want to hear the lonely cries from his very purest, truest self that he's tried for so long to hide away.

Jigsaw smiles faintly.

"I would cut you," he says simply, "but it seems like we don't have time for that. It's time to introduce doctor Gordon's – and yours – second test."

"Oh, stop it, you're scaring me," Adam bites back.

Jigsaw pretends not to hear him. He just stands up with a cringe and points to a black little dot on the door.

Adam has to squint to see it. The door, and Jigsaw, too, for that matter, floats around in his vision, floats around in a liquid that's only half transparent, but he does manage to discern the dot. He even manages to see that it's a hole, a peephole.

"Amanda has given doctor Gordon a gun," Jigsaw says. "I'm not sure if you noticed that. And unlike many peepholes, this one can be seen through from the outside, too. It can even be shot through to unlock a door and bring you to your lover."

Adam just stares at him. He knows Jigsaw well enough at this point to know that Lawrence wouldn't have to shoot through that hole if it didn't trigger something else, but right now, he doesn't see what that would be.

Then again, he doesn't see much else, either. Most things are black.

"I'm waiting for the 'but,'" Adam says after a few seconds of silence.

Jigsaw once again makes that face that shows that he would've shrugged if he'd been able to.

"There is no 'but.' Doctor Gordon just has to shoot through the hole, the door will open and the two of you will be free to go. I just want you to notice where the hole is placed."

Adam wishes Jigsaw could stop speaking in codes. He's already crossed the line where it would've been hard enough to understand what Jigsaw wanted said if he wrote it on a giant board, but when he talks like that, all Adam can think is _the hole is on the _door, _motherfucker. _

But then he sees _where _on the door the hole is.

It's placed just a little too low for him to see through it. And a little far too the right.

And then he gets it.

For Lawrence to open the door, he has to shoot Adam. Again.

And he has to shoot at a place where Adam already has a scar.

But Adam doesn't panic about this nearly as much as he thought he would. He doesn't see a reason to panic, simply because there's no way that'll happen, so he scowls instead.

"Fuck if he'll do that."

"He doesn't have to," Jigsaw says, and now drops his hand and places it on the handle of the door. "You see, there's another way to open the door. He can just reach out and take the handle."

Adam raises his eyebrows briefly.

"Wonderful. But…"

"But," Jigsaw admits, "I think you deserve a look at the handle."

He sits back down, takes a remote control out of his pocket and points it to the TV. The picture changes from Lawrence, pale and bleeding, for which Adam is grateful, but when he sees the new picture, he thinks that he'd rather watch Lawrence again, he'd rather watch Lawrence when he saws off his foot, he'd rather watch _anything. _

Just not this.

Because now, the TV shows the handle.

Or, not the handle. You can't really see the handle, because it's surrounded by razors, razors so sharp that Adam can see them glisten even on a black-and-white, blurry screen, and as soon as he realizes that, Adam brings out the little voice in his head that explained the situation to him when he woke up in here and that sayss things so plainly that not even he can misunderstand them.

_There's a box covering the handle. You have to stick your hand into the box to take the handle._

_There's a chord inside the box. When you stick your hand into the box, the chord will trigger the razors. The razors will cut, and they'll cut whatever's in the box, which will be a person's hand. The hand will be cut off. _

_The artery in the wrist will be cut off. The owner of the hand will most likely die. _

_That's the situation. And you're not scared, you're just angry. Okay?  
_

Adam is so cold.

He's so cold, and he gets even colder. And he puts his eyes on Jigsaw, and Jigsaw is so cold, so cold that Adam understand that he is the source of his own cold, it's his fault that he's cold, it's his fault that he's here, everything is his fault, and Adam hates him, hates him so much, despite what Lawrence tells him to, he hates him and that makes him even colder.

Adam opens his mouth. The words that come from it aren't cold at all, though, they seem to be the only living thing he possesses right now, his only weapon.

"You're going to cut off his hand?"

No reply. Hate.

"_Would you fucking answer me?" _Adam hisses. "Is this your way of making me appreciate him? To kill him?"

"He doesn't have to die," Jigsaw says calmly, with something that only sounds like a half interest. "He can shoot you. And even if he does cut off his hand, he can survive."

That is such a weird thing to say, Adam can't even answer immediately.

How can a person be so empty?

How can someone be so senselessly, utterly drained of emotions that he says something like that?

Adam is so angry that he barely manages to get the words out of his mouth.

"He doesn't… _He doesn't have a fucking right foot!" _He sputters and feels the little blood that's left in his body rushing to his face. "He won't _handle _another cut-off limb! He can't _do _that!"

"That's how your love for him is going to be tested," Jigsaw says in the same tone as he and Adam are chatting about the weather. "Because he won't get here without your help. That's your test."

Adam still doesn't get it. Right now, he's so furious that he wouldn't get it even if he didn't have to work this hard to just make his eyes stay on Jigsaw.

"Amanda won't lead doctor Gordon to this room," Jigsaw continues. "And Lawrence can't come without any help."

Adam still doesn't understand. Even though that tiny, sensible part of his brain screams for him to panic.

"You know this house," Jigsaw says. "You used to come here with your friends when you were younger."

And so, a light appears to Adam.

This might be the first time a light makes him want to die.

"And you've been given a cell phone," Jigsaw finishes off.

Adam's senses are momentarily shut down. That little voice has to come out to make him understand.

Even though he doesn't want to.

Even though he doesn't have to, because this is all a bad dream. He'll wake up soon, he'll have an arm around Lawrence's waist, and Lawrence is going to smile sleepily at him, kiss him on the top of the head and they'll fall asleep, entwined, in a bubble of warmth.

Because this can't be for real. Nothing real can be this terrible.

_You have a phone. Lawrence has a phone. Lawrence doesn't know this house. You do. _

_ You're going to have to call him and guide him to you. That's the way your love for him will be tested. _

_If you really love him, you'll call him and tell him to go home, and bleed to death yourself. And if you call him and guide him here, you're going to have to chose between killing him or killing yourself. _

_That's the situation. And you're not even angry anymore, because once again, it's too terrible for a common stupid feeling like anger. Instead, you feel like you're drowning, drowning in darkness, in darkness and sorrow and regret, drowning in all the things you should've told Lawrence and that you'll never get a chance to say, because you will never see him again. And if you see him again, it's because either you die in his arms, or he dies in yours. _

_Okay? Are we clear? Then, let the games begin._

**The third trap… Now, it's a cliffhanger, isn't it? Review, or it'll jump! **


	12. Way Too Human

**A/N: Hey there! Guess what? I know I said this in the last chapter, too, but it is officially time for the third, and in my opinion, the hardest trap for our little sweethearts! And how's that going to turn out, you might ask? And my answer is: I've wanted to write this since I started the fic, so if it doesn't turn out well, I might cry! **

**12: Way Too Human **

It's hard to panic when you can't register what you're supposed to panic about.

And right now, it's just like right after Adam saw Lawrence climbing and red, dripping mouths opened in his palms.

He can't kick and scream, can't even hate Jigsaw, can't even miss Lawrence, since it's so obvious that this isn't happening. Things like these don't happen.

People aren't this cruel. People don't force other people to either bleed to death or lead the person they love the most, the one person who's ever loved them and ever_ stayed, _into a definite death, they don't force other people to guide the loves of their lives into the lion's cave.

All in all, this doesn't happen. This is a dream, a nightmare. A movie. Directors and audience. Stanley Kubrick.

So Adam doesn't really get why he's so scared, doesn't get why his hands start to shake so violently that not even the beltscan hold them still.

Jigsaw is still, though. He doesn't move a muscle, looks like something from Madame Tussaud's. Okay, good. There's a solution. Jigsaw isn't real, he's a doll. All in all, neither of this is for real. It's all a wax cabinet, and Adam's a doll, too, he doesn't have to worry about dying, doesn't have to fear that his wax heart will stop beating. So he can send Lawrence home without really lying, because Lawrence can't come here. He's the only thing that's real, after all.

Lawrence. Adam's heart is made out of wax, so it's okay, but it still aches at that thought.

Lawrence is the only thing, the only thing ever in Adam's life that's been real, that hasn't been a bad dream, that hasn't gone away and hasn't bitten his hand when he's tried to touch it.

Lawrence is real, so he needs to live.

Adam's just a wax doll, so he just has to melt to be forever gone. Lawrence is a human, and if he goes away there will be blood, splattering and red, tears, heavy and salty, a pale, silent Diana standing in front of a tomb.

It's not hard for Adam to come to a conclusion.

"Okay."

A light goes on in Jigsaw's eyes.

"What?"

"Give me the damn phone."

Jigsaw lifts the phone, which still lies in Adam's lap, and dials a number. Adam takes a deep breath when Jigsaw puts the phone to his ear and presses it in place with his shoulder.

He's made of wax.

Wax dolls don't feel sorrow.

Wax dolls don't fall in love.

And he does his best to block out the thought that Lawrence is human, and by this, will be devastated, as he hears the signal beeping.

Lawrence startles when the phone buzzes against the wound in his hand. Amanda looks fairly amused when she sees the frightened plea in his eyes.

"You can pick up," she says softly. "This isn't 'Ring,' I'm pretty sure there's no monster in the phone."

Lawrence pretends not to hear her, he's still mad at her from their last coversation, when he presses the big, glowing button, it looks like it's staring at him, and picks up.

"Hello…"

His voice isn't his own. Once again, he's standing a few feet away from himself and watches.

He so badly wants to believe that the poor man he sees isn't himself.

In the other end of the house, Adam can't fight anymore. He tried to use the time when the signals went through to close mouth, eyes, nose, make himself completely airtight, but when he hears Lawrence's voice, there's no use.

He can't help that he weeps.

Can't help that when he hears the shadow of a voice he used to love, the voice who was a warm, red cave he could crawl up in and hide from everything he's waist-deep in right now, something inside his wax-heart snaps and tears spill over, runs from his eyes and gather up in the corners of his mouth, try to get into his own voice and make it soft and mushy, despite his desperate efforts to keep it firm.

He knows what he has to say. And if he says that with the tear-dripping thing that is his voice now weather he likes it or not, it won't have much effect.

"Lawrence…" He begins, realizes that his voice is way too soft, like a sponge, and then starts over. "Lawrence, where the fuck are you?"

That was good. Sharp tone, a little quippy. He's not wax anymore, he's steel now.

For a second, Lawrence thinks that Adam's kidding. His mouth hangs open for seconds before he can't think of an answer.

"What do you mean, where am I?" He says, tries to sound annoyed, only sounds begging. "Adam, you have to tell me where to go now! I'm in some corridor, there's a painting on the wall, Amanda won't tell me where to go…"

He sounds like when he was six. Mom, Tommy took my candy.

Adam inhales, it's jittery and shaky and makes him think of a rubber band someone's stabbed with a needle, but when he exhales, he actually is able to make it sound like a sigh.

He's steel. Steel.

"Lawrence, you fucking idiot," he moans, "please tell me you're not in some goddamn haunted house looking for me?"

He wishes he could put a hand over his mouth, then it'd be so much easier to stifle the sobs.

Now, when his hands are tied, the only one he can trust to keep his façade up is himself. And that's not a comforting thought at all.

Because without Lawrence, he is nothing. Without Lawrence, he _is_ wax. Wax doll.

Lawrence is completely quiet for a few seconds. He's quiet in a perplexed, dumbfounded way that doesn't fit him at all, and Adam wants him to stop that.

He wants Lawrence to say that everything's going to be okay in that tone he just rolls his eyes at normally, but right now, would be a blanket around his shaking shoulders, band-aid on his raw wounds.

Fuck, that damn preppy doctor is all he's got!

Adam inhales again. Don't think like that. Not good. Stop it right now, be wax, be steel.

"What do you mean?" Lawrence asks, almost menacingly, and there's a sob that Adam can't hold back. He can only hope it sounds like a dejected chuckle.

"Lawrence, for God's sake," he cries out. "You bought that crap? I'm at home right now! I'm fine!"

Lawrence shakes his head, almost laughs, and puts his hand over his eyes. If Adam actually thinks he's that stupid, maybe he should leave him here.

"Adam," he says, stricter now. "You're full of it. Tell me where you are, and I'll get there."

"No, Lawrence!" Adam yells, frustrated.

His voice is faltering now. Like old wood. Not steel. Not one bit.

"These people want to _hurt _you," he goes on, and now, he's actually telling the truth, he's begging subtly from the bottom of his heart. "You broke their rules the last time we did this, remember? You thought they'd let you go unpunished? Just come back home, and you'll be fine! If you keep going, _that's _when you'll really get in trouble! Just come home and I'll be there!"

The tears are pouring, gushing, and it's worse than when the blood did so, because this is a sign of his weakness, a sign that he's already lost. He will tell Lawrence where he is, he will lure Lawrence into the grave with him, because he loves him so much, loves him too much to lie to him.

"Adam!" Lawrence growls, furious now, that fucking little moron won't get away that easy.

"_What?" _Adam hisses back.

He's mad now, too. Mad at Lawrence for not believing him, mad at himself for being such a fucking pussy.

"I love you," Lawrence blurts out, he hasn't even noticed that he cries, too, and Adam feels every trace of steel melting away, along with the wax, and all that's left is him, only him, and he's nothing but a human, a stupid, fucking, weak human, a human who's head falls down between his quivering shoulders, a human who's crying like a baby and who's way too fragile to handle something like this and who's so desperately, mind-numbingly in love that he can't even think about how stupid he is right now.

_So much. _

_So much for trying. _

_Damn you, Lawrence. You know I can't fucking disagree with you now, you sneaky bastard._

Jigsaw has to pick up the phone from his lap again. It fell down when Adam's head drooped, and one look on his face is enough to make Adam think rationally again.

But not enough to turn him back into steel.

He's crying too hard to be steel right now. Crying too hard to hide it from someone who knows him as well as Lawrence.

"I know… I never said it," Lawrence goes on when Adam's shoulders are still enough to press the phone to his ear again, and hearing his home, his safety, sobbing helplessly too far away for Adam to comfort him is like another cut on his arm. "But it was just because… I knew you wouldn't let me! But didn't I show you, couldn't you tell? Fuck, when I was touching you and kissing you and making _love _to you… Couldn't you…"

Adam's voice is too cracked to be used, his shoulders are shaking and tears mix with blood and vomit on his shirt.

_Get it together. _

Adam inhales. Needs air.

_For him. _

The phone slips against his ear. Lawrence's sobs are crackling.

_For God's sake, get it together for him. _

"Maybe…"

Adam knows the tears are too permeated in his voice now for Lawrence not to hear. He's not going to stop trying, though.

"Maybe I loved you, too," Adam stutters out, and the words are even more foreign on his tongue now than fourteen years ago. "But it couldn't…"

Another sob. Everything can go to hell now.

"Oh, fuck, forget it, Lawrence!" Adam hisses. "You can't come here, you hear me? He has a trap, and your hand… It'll…"

It's like his tears are words. They pour out of his eyes, one by one, and he can't talk anymore, can't even breath, can only feel the sentences that slips down his cheeks, all the salty little things he could never say.

Lawrence can't talk, either. He can barely stand, and Amanda seems to have so much fun, the grin on her lips is wide. Lawrence tries not to look at her, Adam's sobbing, like knives in his head, is bad enough, because he's not there, he can't comfort him. Can only wish to.

Can only talk, and hope it sounds comforting even though he cries harder than he's ever done in his life.

"Adam…" Lawrence stutters out. "Oh, my dear, sweet, Adam, my beloved little Adam, don't cry… Let me come to you, let me… Let me be your soul driver…"

Adam is still crying. But maybe it gets a little softer. Maybe.

"Remember all the fights we've had over the stereo, Adam?" Lawrence goes on, suddenly remembering himself. "Remember all the times I've put on a Bruce Springsteen-album and you've said he sounds like a vacuum cleaner and tried to turn it off, and I've held the remote high over my head? Remember that, Adam?"

And maybe Adam laughs. Maybe.

"Remember the songs I've made you listen to?" Lawrence asks, even chuckling, himself, and Amanda almost looks angry.

Adam is still crying. But it's less violent crying now, more still, peaceful sobbing. And Lawrence feels his cheek drying, he's sure of that.

Because he remembers, too.

"Remember the line…" Lawrence begins, seeking through the mess in his brain for the folder named 'Bruce Springsteen.' "'If the angels are unkind, or the season is dark, or if in the end, love just falls apart, well, then, baby, let me be your soul driver…'"

Adam doesn't answer. But he remembers, too, Lawrence can hear that.

Can hear him remembering the fights over the remote, remembering the endless beers and the phone calls to Chinese restaurants, the crappy TV-shows, the still, sweaty love making, the nights on the couch when neither one of them said anything but when they still knew they'd never be able to live without each other.

And maybe that's why Adam then speaks up again, with a new voice, soft and vulnerable, reborn from the insecurely edgy one he used to have.

"Where… Are you right now?"

Lawrence looks around.

"It's… A corridor. There's a painting on the wall in front of me. It's a ship, it's… Titanic. When it's sinking."

He hears Adam's nod.

"Okay…" He says, and his voice really is small. Almost dejected. "Then, there should be a door a few feet ahead that you should go through."

This is what Jigsaw wants him to do. Adam doesn't care.

**ARGH! Adam's so STUPID, isn't he? Well, on the bright side, if he's this stupid, it might be easier to get him into bed! (Random) Anyway, review, I tell you! **


	13. Fear Is Not That Powerful

**A/N: WHO-HOO! We're closing in on an end of this baby, aren't we? Well, I'm sure you can all endure it, since this chapter actually **_**is **_**as good as it was in my wildest imaginations… Well, I've had wilder imaginations, and most of them involve Adam and Lawrence, but I don't think you want to know about those. ;-) Anyway, my perversions aside, read on! **

**13: Fear Is Not That Powerful **

The first time Lawrence went to school on his own was the first time he got to borrow his big brother's cell phone. His mom had given it to him and explained that she would call him the second he left the house, and he'd have to tell her about every step he took while he took it. And that first time, Lawrence had giggled when he talked about the trees he passed and the kids who wrestled on the other side of the street, but now, when he and Adam do the exact same thing, he doesn't giggle at all, warm tears just run down his face, he just tries to keep his voice from crumbling like old wood.

When Adam was nine, he got a Sims-game. His mom would give a librarian her last change to let him use the computer in the library to play this very first computer game he'd ever set his hands on. But after playing for ten minutes, Adam had stormed out of the library with his small fists swirling through the air, because he couldn't do something that involved telling someone else, even if it was only an animated guy on a screen, to do exactly as he said, he'd never be able to handle that much control, never trust himself enough.

And now, he's back there.

Right now, Adam's nine even though he's twenty-eight, now, he has to gain a control he doesn't want, has to be able to control the one person he never thought would be okay with someone else controlling him.

He has to tell Lawrence how to walk straight into certain death for either one of them. And he has to pretend like he has no hesitations in his actions whatsoever.

Has to be strong, because for once, _once, _is that too much for Lawrence to handle. And Adam doesn't like that, because he loved the way it used to be, he loved to sit back and shake his head at Lawrence who sat with his calendar and chewed-down pen to plan things months from now, loved to sink into that warm scent of washed-out cologne on Lawrence's chest after he woke up from a nightmare.

Loved those situations that he right now wonders if he'll ever get back.

"Okay," Adam goes on and tries to keep his voice together. He _has _stopped crying now, so it shouldn't be impossible. "Walk through that door. And on the other side… Turn to the left. Because there's a painting of some other fucking ship in there, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Lawrence croaks out. "And a new door… Oh, God, Adam…"

Adam cuts him off. Doesn't want to hear someone who's so obviously not Lawrence imitate his voice like that.

"Walk through that other door, then," Adam says gruffly. "And keep walking down that new corridor. It's pretty long, I think, but go to the other end."

Lawrence nods. He has _not _stopped crying, but he keeps walking and god, he actually _hears _Amanda's sneer when she follows him.

"Adam…" He whimpers, since Adam doesn't have any instructions to interrupt him with now that he only has to walk straight ahead. "Has he… Has he hurt you?"

Adam almost laughs out loud. And all the while, the tears are streaming, keep streaming, don't want to stop. Damn it. He'd just gotten himself together.

Little Lawrence. Silly little thing.

How does he suppose that Jigsaw works? Hasn't he gone through this before, isn't he going through it right now?

Isn't that scar on his ankle, that's only just healed, torn up again?

Isn't everything they've built up together crumbling, inside out?

But Lawrence doesn't need to hear that right now. And even though Adam's never liked to cushion blows like this, he hears himself saying:

"No, Lawrence, I'm fine. I mean, I'm… Fucking terrified, I admit that, but… I'm more worried about you than me."

Lawrence chuckles, even though there's nothing funny about this situation at all.

His voice doesn't sound like his own at all. He sounds like Adam's sobs those nights when he sinks into Lawrence's chest, while Adam, on the other hand, sounds just like himself, only with someone else's words.

Lawrence's words. Because the tables have turned now.

And right now, Lawrence is too unlike himself to think about why that is, even though the person he used to be would immediately know that the reason they go through this is that Adam still is so stuck in himself, so unchanging from the person he was before they met that he still couldn't really let Lawrence in, that Adam is the one that had to be punished and that he needed to be punished in a place where he felt it.

And Adam really is someone who endures anything. Putting him through physical pain is useless, because he's brought so much of that down on himself before that he barely feels it anymore. So Jigsaw has attacked his heart, attacked the one closest to him, because that is something he will never forget, he will always remember what he's learned today.

If they make it out.

When Lawrence enters the new door, he finds himself cut off, and not by Adam this time. On the other side of the doorl he faces only a moldy wall, nothing's on the sides of him, and behind him, only things he never wants to go back to.

Just like this whole day has been. Nothing good is in the near future, and the past is way too much alike the future.

But before today, Lawrence didn't face a moldy wall. He didn't know what he faced, but he knew that he liked it, that it wasn't easy but it was beautiful, and he'd go through it with Adam, Adam would make it easy. And if it wasn't easy, he would endure, that's what he did.

Even if it was something is unendurable as this.

"Adam…" Lawrence whines, and now, his voice sounds like Diana's, for Christ's sake. "There's nothing in here… It's just…"

"I know, I know," Adam cuts him off again, almost annoyed, and he wishes he had his hands free to wipe his face. His nose is running, he must look disgusting. "But if you look up, I think there's… A trapdoor, even if you can't see it… And I think there's a latter next to a wall somewhere, it was when I were here…"

Lawrence looks around, feels the walls with his free hand until he finds something cold and rickety, something that probably won't bear him but that he still grabs and leans against the wall in front of him and that he climbs, even though it burns when he puts weight on the cuts in his feet.

Lawrence has to pin the phone to his shoulder and use both hands to feel over the ceiling once he's reached it, Adam's jittery breaths crackles in his ear. And he does find some sort of unevenness that he pushes upwards. Yes, there's a trapdoor, and Lawrence has opened it. He's getting closer.

"Hang on, Adam," Lawrence says and puts the phone on a greasy carpet of dust that lays on the floor above him before he grabs the edges of the entrance, heaves himself into this new room and lands clumsily on his back in the dirt. Someone's poured acid into the cuts on his back.

Through the cameras, Adam sees Lawrence when he rolls onto his back on the floor, and his heart aches even more than it did when he saw him before now, because now, he _feels _Lawrence, _feels _the warm, humming presence of him on the other side of the door, feels it and knows that it will soon be gone, way too soon be gone.

_Lawrence… I'm so sorry… I…_

"You okay, man?" Adam asks, but he doesn't hear Lawrence's reply, he's shaking so much that the phone falls down into his lap again.

When Jigsaw lifts the phone to his shoulder again, Adam says, still shaking, both in body and voice, but once again, _get it together, get it together for him: _

"Now, you see that door? It's right in front of you, you see it?"

Amanda heaves herself up through the trapdoor. Adam wants to die.

"Yeah…" Lawrence gasps out and rolls over to his stomach.

"I'm there, Lawrence," Adam says, and he sounds like a fucking girl and he cries, _god, _he cries so hard again and he smiles like a fucking kid, but he doesn't care, not one bit. "I can see you. Hi, man…"

Lawrence laughs, Adam can see a smile on his face that once again only is a god-awful impression of who he really is even on a blurry monitor.

"You're behind there?" Lawrence rasps out. "Is… Is the door locked?"

Such a childish question. Adam laughs, too.

"What the fuck do you think, you idiot?"

Lawrence.

Goodbye.

"But you can open it. Just…"

Throat that burns.

"Just shoot through the peephole with the gun, and I'll be there."

Lawrence stands up on wobbly legs, his eyes are widened and fretful,

_(just like the other time, remember Adam remember) _

and he touches the door insecurely, like it'll disappear if he's too eager.

"Oh, God, Adam…"

Adam gulps. Tears stream down.

"Yeah… Just do it, okay? You've lost a lot of blood, we need to get you home."

Later on, Lawrence won't have any idea of why he does it.

Maybe he just knows Jigsaw well enough to know that none of his options are painless.

Maybe he knows Adam well enough to know when he lies. And the latter seems more believable, since Adam has always been a terrible liar.

Even when he was someone that wasn't him. Even before Lawrence's insecure love turned him into himself.

But either way, Lawrence takes the gun out of his pocket, but he doesn't fire it. Instead, he leans down, without a trace of hesitation, and looks through the peephole.

He doesn't have to know Adam that well to recognize his t-shirt, though. Especially when he even sees a tuft of dark hair, a pale little glimpse of that neck whose taste he feels even stronger than the one of blood in his mouth.

_Adam… For God's sake, Adam…_

"Adam, you fucking moron," Lawrence almost laughs, he's really not surprised at all. "Did you really think I would fall for that?"

Adam doesn't even try to keep the act up.

"I kind of did," he replies coldly, even though the tears are still pouring. "But just fire the fucking gun already."

Lawrence shakes his head. It stays spinning long after the motion's stopped.

"I won't."

"Yes, you will," Adam hisses.

He's so angry now, in that same way as when Lawrence wouldn't buy his act before. Stupid fucking Lawrence.

"No, I won't," Lawrence says plainly and keeps moving his aching hand over the dirty wood of the door.

Amanda's standing next to him now. He doesn't care about her, nothing she can say or do can make this more painful than it already is.

"Yes, you sure as fucking hell will!" Adam yells so loudly that Lawrence hears it from the other side of the door. "Because if you don't do that, you're going to have to stick your fucking hand into that box-thing on the handle and cut it off, and then _you _will die! Either way, we won't get a fucking fairytale-ending, so just _do_ it, for _fuck's sake!" _

Lawrence can't even answer right away. He doesn't show any reaction at all, he just stares at Amanda without seeing her, the sharp red lips and the way they crease in triumph, his eyes are all wide again.

Of course. That box on the handle.

Tears that well up.

Adam…

Lawrence as to put his hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up again. _Adam… _

He doesn't want to sob. He knows that it's bad enough for Adam to be strong when Lawrence is, too, so he really doesn't need this now that Lawrence already _is a _wreck, but he can't help himself. He does sob, simply because he cries so hard, cries so hard that he doesn't even hear that Adam's crying, too, that the picture of Lawrence on that monitor goes blurry from his tears, because Lawrence is so obviously out of control, and that's not him. Lawrence Gordon isn't out of control, the man he fell in love with doesn't do that.

The man Adam loves isn't on that screen anymore. Jigsaw has taken him away.

Adam does manage to keep his sobs down. But not the sorrow, not the blood of his broken heart that runs out the wounds in his arms in silent runnels as he recalls another one of those fights about the remote to the stereo that Lawrence won.

Remembers the line: _Fear's a powerful thing, _and cries because he suddenly learns how true it is.

_Lawrence… Don't… Don't turn into someone else… I love you, I love you so much, so much just the way you are, don't turn into someone else, don't…_

"Lawrence, goddamn it, listen to me!"

He has no idea where the words come from. They shouldn't be able to come from his mouth, his broken jugular, but apparently, they do, because Lawrence's crying stops like someone's pressed a button on him.

Adam takes a deep breath. Okay. Okay.

For Lawrence to keep being the man Adam loves, Adam's obviously going to have to be the one who turns into someone else. But that's okay. That's okay.

"Everything… Is going to be okay," Adam says, firmer than he thought himself capable of. "I promise you that. I… I was nothing without you, and if you go away because of me, I won't be worth shit anymore. Not to anyone. So just do it. Please."

Lawrence rakes a hand through his hair. Amanda's grin is even wider, and now, it's harder to ignore.

"But…"

"I forgive you, Lawrence. I do."

Adam does. He's not lying now.

Now, that it's required of him, he's going to be honest.

He's going to be someone he's not. Or he's going to be the one he's been inside all along.

Amanda's obviously listened to this whole conversation, Lawrence suddenly realizes. She's had her ear pressed to the back of his phone, and now, she rolls her eyes and stands back.

"I don't get why he even tries," she chuckles and shakes her head at Lawrence's half hateful, half dreading eyes. "As _if _you'd have the balls to grab that handle."

God, Lawrence hates her.

Hasn't he cut off his foot once to save people he loves?

Hasn't he done enough soon? Will they never be happy?

Apparently not. Because Amanda nods to the gun and waves her hand lazily, like she doesn't get what he whines about.

"Just shoot the damn kid and get it done already."

Lawrence doesn't see her anymore.

All he sees is red.

"Come on, doc. Just do it."

Adam's sobs in the phone. Her voice, heavy with cigarette smoke.

Her eyes. Cold, indifferent.

Adam's eyes. Vivid, sparkling. Living. And loving it.

Turned down. Always on the floor, because this is what he's been afraid of. These people. Their games.

Adam's living eyes, loving eyes, always on the floor.

And Amanda's eyes, dead already, but not afraid.

And that's when Lawrence realizes that neither he nor Adam are going to die today.

He stumbles through the door only seconds later, spots Adam on the chair, closes his arms around him.

And Adam's face is bored into Lawrence's chest so quickly that he doesn't have to see.

Doesn't have to see the red that's splattered all over Lawrence and all over the white door, doesn't have to see the hand that lays in the box with the razors like a dead spider.

But even in the mixture of overwhelming happiness and thick, drowning, death-cold and black sorrow, does he manage to register that there are _two _hands on his back.

**Ah, yes, two hands… How is that possible, you might wonder? Nah, I don't think you do, it's kind of obvious. But drop me a line about how much you love me, please! **


	14. That Place Inside You

**A/N: Okay, so my hands basically shook while I was writing this, just because… It wraps things UP! UP, I tell you! And God knows we need this, the plot's been as thick as my big brother's head for a while now! (That was unavoidable. If you knew my brother, you'd understand. XD) Anyway, my darlings, read on…**

**14: That Place Inside You**

She is dead. Jigsaw knows it the second Lawrence stumbles through the door, with both hands left but blood splattered over him nonetheless.

Amanda is dead. Her legs are the only part of her showing through the door, he doesn't even get to see her hand, slim fingers and black nail polish, he knows it even though he can't see it, even though the box that it lays in is painted in a thick, morbid red.

He knows it even though he didn't see it on the cameras. His eyes had been stuck on the door, waiting with an almost childish longing for Lawrence's scream, the one that had haunted him through his dreams, the one he'd never been able to forget because it was still heard, Lawrence was still alive even though he'd broken the rules.

He broke the rules this time, too. Jigsaw saw it with a mental eye.

Saw how Lawrence slowly laid his eyes on Amanda's face.

How a moment of realization washed over him.

How he didn't regret it at all. Not even after he'd grabbed her hand, his nails were short but still dug into her wrist, not even after she'd shuddered as the last breath of life dropped from her lips in a burning gasp, didn't manage to make another sound before she dropped to the floor, dead before the locks turned.

Lawrence broke the rules this time.

And Jigsaw feels nothing, he feels even less than he usually does, he'd never be able to do this if he had emotions, but he still knows that he won't let him get away this time, too.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam isn't sure how it happens.

There's this brief moment when he feels, without knowing why, a life disappearing right in front of him, though he can't see it, a fire going out, grief striking the world and no one even knows it. And then mechanisms clicking, handles turning, a gust of cold humidity when the door opens, pale face appearing in a black chink, two dark holes for eyes.

It's like a moon.

And then straight into Lawrence's arms.

Straight into a strong embrace, sweat that's now cold and clammy, but Adam doesn't care, he bores his face into the blue, dirty shirt, his sobs bounce back to him on the chest he's clinging to, a heart beats against his cheek and it's Lawrence's, Lawrence is here, he's here, he's here now, he'll make everything okay, he'll take the warm, safe doctor-hands and fix everything, fix everything that Jigsaw broke and fix Adam's broken heart, stitch up the wounds, give back everything that was taken away from him and ruined their relationship long after it had disappeared.

Lawrence is here. He's here now. And he sobs into Adam's hair, he clutches to his frail shoulders and that makes the cuts sting, but Adam doesn't care about that, either, most of his energy goes to keeping his head above the water and listen to what Lawrence mumbles, rambles in a desperate stream of words.

"Adam I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I let those fucking bastards take you I'm so sorry, I'll take you home now, I'll take you home, you'll be home soon... You'll be home, my dear, dear, beloved Adam..."

Adam nods silently, impatiently, because Lawrence is being stupid.

He says it like Adam's ever going to leave him, ever again

"I love you."

The second time he says it. It hasn't gotten any easier, but that's okay. It'll be okay now.

"I love you so fucking much..."

It feels like Lawrence tightens his grip on his shoulders. But maybe it's just in his head.

"I love you so much and I never told you, and..."

Pause. He's not sure what he wants to say. It's just his heart that is.

"And I made you go through all this shit again, and I'm so sorry, Lawrence, I'm so sorry I did this to you, I'm so sorry that I never told you, I should've told you every day, because I loved you every day, I should've... I do love you, man, you know I do, I just..."

God, his throat almost hurts. Why does he rush it so much? He'll have time to tell him later. Neither one of them are going to die here, he knows that. And Lawrence seems to do, too, because he nods, Adam senses it against his skull, and takes Adam's head away from his chest.

Adam doesn't want him to do that. When he actually has to look at Lawrence's face, it's way too obvious that it's drifting in and out, that it's the only real thing in a darkness that's closing in on them both, like one living body in a lake of lost souls.

Yes. The darkness is closing in on them.

They can't run from it anymore. They're going to have to face their demons here.

Beat them. Finally. Or let them destroy the love that they created without even meaning to.

But in the meantime, it's way too obvious that despite what Adam tells himself, it's not that certain that neither one of them will die here. And it's hard to fight with that thought in mind.

"I know you love me," Lawrence says and takes Adam's head between his hands, light and life glows from his palms, streams into Adam's face. "And I love you, too, Adam, I always have and I always will, and we're going to get out of here, I'm going to take you... _Home, _I'll..."

A desperate sob.

Don't go away. Don't go away now.

Lawrence opens his mouth again.

"Everything's going to be okay. I meant it the last time. And I mean it now. I do."

Adam nods.

He's right. He has to be right.

"I always loved you."

Pause.

"I just wanted to say... That. Again. In case we don't..."

Lawrence shakes his head violently before Adam even manages to finish the sentence. He talks again while he unbuckles the belts around Adam's arms, and Adam sighs in relief when his hands are free again, even though it feels like thousands of evil little pins stick into his wrists where the belts used to be.

"Don't say that, Adam. I'll get us out of here. And we'll go home, and we'll find a place where we want to be, and everything we'll be okay, we can live there for the rest of our lives and... And it'll be ours."

Lawrence laughs. It doesn't sound like him, Adam gets scared.

"It'll be _ours, _Adam! Our home! We'll find a home, where no one can reach us, and all this... All _this _can just run after us all it wants, but it'll never find us... Adam... Adam..."

His name is a prayer. Keeps him alive. And only that. Lawrence presses his lips to Adam's forehead, almost violently, before he kneels down and unbuckles the belts around his legs, too, and that's not that much of a relief, but Adam still sobs again, barely notices the tears streaming down the face, the blood that's dried and that which is still running, both from his body and from Lawrence's.

He's tired. He's so tired.

This whole day has just been a dark, damp, misty hopelessness, and in one way, it feels so good when his whole body surrenders, gives up with a heavy sigh, it's been a long day and he's finally allowed to fall back into a soft mattress, drift into Lawrence's warmth, feel one hand on his cheek and another one on his hip.

It feels so good. But Lawrence doesn't seem to think so, because when he straightens up and sees Adam's eyelids sliding down, he grabs his shoulder, shakes him, he even slaps him loosely, and Adam grunts in annoyance. Why the hell can't he sleep?

"Adam!" Lawrence shouts, his voice is laced with plea, and Adam moans tiredly. "Adam, stay with me!"

Without really thinking, Lawrence jabs his index finger into one of Adam's wounds, and his heart retracts in a remorseful ache when he sees Adam jolt and whimper, his eyes are still running, he doesn't need any more pain, but he's still pleased that he's awake now.

Adam can't die in here. None of them will, but if one of them should, it should be Lawrence.

Adam is strong. He can fight the demons if he doesn't kill them now.

But if Lawrence doesn't have Adam next to him, he won't be able to fight anything. And the demons will keep on living. Destroy everything he loves. Like they hadn't destroyed enough.

And now, they seem to want to destroy something more.

Because now, Lawrence sees a dark shape that he, in a brief moment of complete bliss, had forgotten was there, rising up next to him.

And he gets so scared that he drowns, so scared that he sees everything from the bottom of a dirty, freezing ocean, fumbles for a hole in the ice so he can get up, breath, _finally breath after holding breath for a whole day, _but not find anything.

Jigsaw. There's no light in the room, and he's wrapped in his cloak, looks more like a skull then ever.

The only living thing about him seems to be the glistening knife in his hand.

"Doctor Gordon."

A voice from beyond the grave.

"Congratulations. You got here. You freed your lover. But you broke the rules."

From beyond the grave, but still fills the entire room.

"So you'll be pleased to know that Adam will get away. But you, having learned nothing, still sacrificing others to save your own skin, still being focused on the things you love, which are mainly yourself, will be left in this room to rot."

And the knife is raised. Raised against him.

Lawrence tries to open his mouth, but there's no use. He's still under water, he only gets colder when it fills his lungs, only loses a bit more of his life, and everything else seems to happen in slow motion.

He doesn't even hear the obvious 'game over' from that voice. The dead voice.

And maybe the reason he doesn't hear it is because suddenly, he's sure, actually _sure _that he won't die today. That the voice would be wrong if it said that.

Because before he manages to grasp the situation, before Lawrence even manages to get why, Jigsaw lets go of the knife, the color seems to leave his eyes like someone's drained them with a needle, his mouth opens wide, and with a cracking sound, as Lawrence realizes with a wave of nausea rushing through his body, Jigsaw's entire lower jaw _falls_ from his head, lands on the floor with the sharp _pang! _of a porcelain bowl filled with pearls cracking, the teeth break and scatter over the floor.

But Adam doesn't stop shooting. Because the gun is in his hand, not in Lawrence's anymore, Adam hasn't even gotten up, but he shoots, and Lawrence gets scared when he sees that, because that's not Adam, it's a person with his face and his body but not with his eyes, it's someone who has eyes black with pure, unconditional hatred, dark slits on his pale face and tears gleaming in them but not falling, not falling because Adam isn't sad. He wants to do this, he's wanted it since Jigsaw stood up a year ago and told him that the game was over.

But the game wasn't over. The game will never be over.

If this is what Jigsaw has turned Adam into, the game will never be over.

Because even if Lawrence doesn't hear it unless he really pays attention, unless he really tries to hear the desperate undertone in the gun that keeps shooting-shooting-shooting, Adam's screaming is still there. And it's too spiteful to come from someone as wonderful as him.

If Jigsaw has turned Adam into something that the purpose of the game is to keep him from being, the game will never be over. Jigsaw will keep playing with Adam and with Lawrence, and that will be no matter how many times Adam shoots him.

They can fight their demons. But the demons have already won.

"_Die!"_

That's what Adam screams. Nothing else. He screams that and keeps pulling the trigger, over and over, long after Jigsaw has fallen into a heap on the floor and only dead blood sprays uninterestedly from the places where the bullet lands.

"_Die! Die! Die! Die!"_

Adam screams. Screams and shoots until long after the bullets are gone and Jigsaw is dead, he's dead and he will never bother them again, but even from beyond the grave does he have the power to make Adam's eyes spill over again, his shoulder shake, one single sob to drop from his chest before he falls forward, onto the floor and onto Lawrence's lap.

And after that, the slow motion breaks. And as a contrast, everything happens really fast.

Lawrence doesn't even check if Adam has a pulse before he lifts his limp upper body from his legs, spots the cell phone about a feet away, he must've dropped it in his excitement to see Adam again, crawls over to it and dials a number while he heaves himself back to Adam, lays his head in his lap again, places one hand on his cheek, feels breath brushing over his thumb when he draws it over Adam's lips.

He would've called them earlier, but Amanda would've shot him, he knows that. But it doesn't matter, because Adam may be unconscious, but he _is _alive, and he's a survivor, he suffered through years of silent hatred, and then six hours of misery that wasn't silent at all, and then another year of seeing someone he loved more than anything in this world without being able to tell him. He went through all of that, fuck if he won't be able to handle some cuts in his arms.

Especially now, when the man who caused at least half of all that is gone forever. Even if they haven't really beaten him.

Adam won't die now, because Lawrence knows that even in his unconsciousness, he doesn't want to miss what their life will be like from now on.

A voice answers. Lawrence clears his throat, and says, without taking his eyes from Adam's face or even bothering to try to keep the tears out of his voice:

"My name is doctor Lawrence Gordon. Get an ambulance here quick, please, there are two dead people here, two severely hurt."

**YAY! I know it's the ultimate sin for any Saw fan to say this, but killing Jigsaw was… Ah, heaven… Anyway, even though the plot has thinned out now, please review, and I'll wrap it up!**


	15. One Thing They'll Never Reach

**A/N: Yay for me! I have once again managed to stuff you guys with the promise that I'll wrap things up, and then made my chapters so long and melodramatic that I have to split the last scene up into two chapters! Who knew? Anyway, just read this, and I promise to make the next chapter the last one! …I hope… **

**15: One Thing They'll Never Reach  
**

It's hard to fit two gurneys into one ambulance. In fact, it's impossible.

That means that they're going to have to fit two people into one gurney. And even if that isn't impossible, it's not easy, either, and it's not healthy, especially not if the two people both suffer from severe blood loss. Lawrence knows that, for Christ's sake, he's a doctor.

But Adam and him both suffer from shock, too. And right now, it feels like that shock will never be cured if Lawrence doesn't get to spend every possible second with him.

He's so scared.

Because today wasn't the rebirth Jigsaw seems to expect his victims to go through when he tests them. Lawrence doesn't feel like he's learned anything at all.

At least nothing good.

The only thing he's learned is that Adam won't always be there. Adam can disappear any time, some fucking psycho can come along as soon as he leaves, today, he only had to go to work for someone to rise from his and Adam's darkest nightmares, someone to come along and take him away.

How is Lawrence supposed to live now?

How the hell is he supposed to live when nothing is certain, when it only takes seven hours of horror for everything he believes in to be crushed, torn into pieces before his eyes, when the frail bubble that he's created for Adam because he thought it was a safe place has been blown apart, when it's only black, sad shards of glass, pricking in the wounds on Lawrence's hands?

That's why he _will _fit two people into one gurney.

He will, because he's been clutching to Adam, so desperately that he thought he'd break those slim little shoulders, ever since he ran through the door with someone else's blood all over him, and like hell, like _fucking hell _he'd let go of them now!

"Doctor Gordon," a paramedic says in a voice as calm and safe as warm oatmeal, and puts her hand on Lawrence's arm, "I understand that it's hard to let go of Adam right now, but I assure you that if you let him stay in his own ambulance, the paramedics will take perfectly good care of him."

Lawrence only hisses at her, because he recognizes that voice. He's used it himself and he knows it doesn't mean a thing, it means that this paramedic has worked a twelve-hour-shift, she's tired and wants to go home, and she doesn't want to deal with a delirious old doctor.

Never again will Lawrence use that voice. Never again will he be able to believe it, because how is he supposed to believe anything again, how is he ever going to be able to trust himself to take care of strangers when he can't even take care of someone he loves?

Lawrence steps up into the ambulance without waiting for the paramedics to roll the gurney down. And he carries Adam with him, the limp body with the cold, stiff fingers, lays him down on the gurney and squeezes himself down next to him, they almost both fall off when Lawrence wraps his arms around Adam again, but he doesn't care.

Lawrence runs his hand through Adam's hair, cranes his head back and looks into his pale face, something he used to do in a different life, when everything was real and safe and soft and warm, but that he now does with boots thumping, raw, cold air, uncomfortable plastic mattress, love in vain.

_Adam…_

Lawrence isn't sure if he says it out loud, but he doesn't think so, since his mouth is busy desperately kissing every piece of shiningly white skin he can see.

_Adam, you little moron, I can't live without you! Why the hell would you scare me like that, why would you go and get kidnapped when you know damn well that my life is pointless without you?_

That's not true. Lawrence has a work that he loves, a daughter that needs a father, but he doesn't think about any of that right now.

Adam is the only real thing. Everything else is black and sharp, shrieking, glistening pieces of metal, knives sticking out of a concrete wall.

What would Lawrence do if he had to climb up those knives and didn't know that he did it for Adam?

Lawrence doesn't even notice that he cries when he keeps kissing.

_What would I do without you, Adam? What would I do?_

He wouldn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do now, either.

So Lawrence keeps kissing, keeps sobbing and clutching and isn't sure if he says the things he thinks out loud, because he doesn't know what else to do. And he lets the ambulance take him and Adam to the hospital, even though he knows it's only in lack of better words, lets it bring him and Adam into an uncertain future, into the remains of a past life, a life that used to be wonderful but that now will be nothing but a stupid fucking confused love that no one else understands anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The wounds on Adam's arms don't hurt as much anymore.

The scars are there, they haven't even healed, but they will. He just has to give them time.

Everything heals. If you have someone there to heal it.

Lawrence has healed pretty well. He still needs Adam to unscrew peanut butter jars for him because his hands hurt, and he's afraid of knives now, but it's okay. He will heal, too, and Adam can wait.

He just wishes things didn't have to hurt so much while he waited.

Sure, he's so ridiculously happy that both he and Lawrence made it out that it physically hurts whenever he thinks about it, and he knows he's lucky, not only to have made it out, but also because he has someone who he loves so much that he wants, more than anything in the world, to be the one who heals him, erase those red stitches on his hands, the dark marks under his eyes.

But it's still hard to be so worried that he barely dares to let Lawrence walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

It's hard to say that he loves him when it feels like he says it more out of fear than anything else. It's hard to watch Lawrence, the strong one and the safe one, not daring to do the dishes anymore, because he's afraid he'll cut his hands again.

Adam knows they'll get through this. They made it the last time, of course they'll do it now, too. But it really is hard. Especially when he knows that they wouldn't be able to do any of this if they didn't have each other, since that thought still scares the hell out of him.

Adam walks through the front door. When he sees Lawrence sitting by the kitchen table, that usual feeling of really paranoid relief washes over him, but when he sees what Lawrence stares at, laying in front of him, with an expression that isn't even his usual, secure melancholy, but just plain dejection, every trace of happiness disappears.

Adam knows Lawrence heard him coming in. But he doesn't even look up. And not when Adam hurries into the kitchen without even taking his shoes off, either.

Please, God, don't let this be what he thinks it is.

"What is that?" Adam asks.

God, his voice is shrill. He takes his jacket off and tosses it on the chair opposite Lawrence, like that's supposed to make him look up.

Lawrence sighs, leans his elbows against the table and puts his chin in one hand, still doesn't look at Adam when he answers.

"It's a tape recorder, Adam."

He just sounds tired. Adam takes two big steps up to him, avoids looking at the silver recorder but just wants Lawrence to look at _him, _which he still doesn't.

"I get that. But where the fuck did you get it from?"

Lawrence eyes are fixed on the refrigerator in front of him. Adam realizes he shouldn't be this annoyed, this is hard for Lawrence, too, but he is. The mere thought that Lawrence knows something about that sick fuck that Adam doesn't makes him want to break something.

Lawrence is the only one who knows what he's going through.

And if Adam doesn't know that Lawrence feels the exact same way about him, doesn't feel like he can tell Adam everything, even if it's just because he has no one else to tell it to, he would be filled with an odd feeling of failure.

But fortunately, Lawrence knows him well enough to know that he thinks that.

So he looks at Adam, and gives him, even though his gaze is just as weary as before, the revelation that he hasn't failed at all.

He's enough as long as he's there.

"The cops called me at work today," Lawrence says, and waves his hand lazily against the chair opposite him to make Adam sit down. "They found his will. Everything he owns is supposed to go to Amanda. Except for this tape recorder. It's supposed to be ours."

Adam still doesn't sit down. He's too terrified, angry, confused, heartbreakingly sad and head over heals in love to do something like that.

Why do they have to do this now?

Why does Jigsaw have to come and fuck things up after he's dead? Why does he have to ruin everything, now that it's actually started to heal, when Adam still isn't able to leave Lawrence without worrying, but at least is able to leave him?

Why can't anything be easy?

"Have you… Listened to it?"

Adam sounds much calmer than he feels. Lawrence shakes his head, his hands are clasped in front of his mouth.

"No," he says and looks at Adam again. "I was waiting for you."

"Good," Adam says, spits out. "Because there's nothing to wait for, alright? We're not going to listen to that. Fuck if we will. We're just going to…"

"Adam…"

"No!" Adam cuts off. "We _won't, _you hear me? Why… Why would you even go and _get _that fucking tape? Why can't you just let things be?"

Lawrence waits for him. Calmly.

Adam doesn't know what he'd do if he didn't have that calmness.

"Because I want to move on," Lawrence then says. Calmly. "I thought you did, too."

"That's exactly what I want!" Adam almost yells, clutches to the edge of the counter he's leaning against. "And that's exactly why we're not going to listen to that! How the fuck are we supposed to move on, how are _any _of us supposed to move on when we have to listen to that son of a bitch whining over what we do with our life even after he's dead? Fuck… Lawrence, how can you _say _that? You can't even fucking make your own goddamned sandwiches in the mornings anymore because you're so afraid of knives! How… How the hell can you want to listen to anything else he has to say after everything he's already done?"

Once again, Lawrence waits. For a second, Adam wonders if he even listens, and then he gets even more annoyed.

Until Lawrence takes his clasped hands away from his lips, and once again, makes sure to keep Adam on the right track. Doesn't let him go down any bad roads just because they're easier to take.

"How are we supposed to move on if we know that there are more things we need to know?" Lawrence replies calmly.

Adam just stares at him. Widened eyes. Shallow breaths.

He hates it when Lawrence is right.

Lawrence lifts one arm, beckons weakly.

"Come and sit with me, Adam."

Adam doesn't move. And finally, Lawrence smiles, the first real expression he's made since Adam entered the room, and Adam knows he's defeated, so he takes a step up to Lawrence and sits down on his lap.

He lets Lawrence wrap his arms around his waist, lets him pick up that damn tape recorder, and he manages to think, right before Lawrence presses the 'Play'-button, that maybe if he just allows Lawrence to do all this, it'll be at least as easy as it can be.

Lawrence puts the recorder back on the table. Adam fumbles blindly for his hand when it returns to his waist, and gets a grip on it right when that voice fills the room, clutches to it tight.

"_Hello, Lawrence, and Adam, if you dare to listen…" _

**Grr… Jigsaw doesn't seem to know that if you make fun of Adam, millions and millions of fangirls will decapitate you within a near future… Anyway, review, and wait for a last chapter! **


	16. This Time

**A/N: ARGH! This is the LAST CHAPTER! For real this time! And it breaks my heart, but… Well, since I have to tie all strings together, and my chapters are pretty long even when all the threads are loose, this is really long! If it's any comfort… Anyway, read on, you faithful readers… **

**16: This Time**

Adam is terrified. The second Jigsaw starts talking, from beyond the grave, but still meaning death to him, he's terrified, and he thought he'd start to cry.

He doesn't cry. But he's shaking, trembling all over, presses closer to Lawrence, tightens the grip on his hand because it's the only solid point in the kitchen, everything else sways back and forth.

Lawrence thought he'd cry, too. Or maybe not cry, but at least be scared. At least as scared as Adam, or at least shiver a little.

But he doesn't. Because just like Adam, he has one solid point, a focal center in this moment and in this life, one thing keeping him sane, as a name that glows in neon in his mind.

_Adam…_

Adam needs him to be strong. Adam needs Lawrence to be strong because he isn't, himself.

So Lawrence is strong. He's strong for Adam, breaths warmly into his neck, sneaks his arm firmer around his waist when he feels the trembling underneath the white t-shirt.

But if Adam weren't here, Lawrence would tremble. He'd do a hell of a lot more.

Because now, a voice he actually barely got to hear in the bathroom, a voice that he's only heard once when it told him that he had to kill Adam, once when it told him that it would kill him, fills the entire kitchen along with a dull buzzing from the playing tape.

Jigsaw has returned.

But maybe that's what's needed to make him go away for good.

_"If you listen to this tape, congratulations. It means that you have both survived my second test, and also, that one of you – which I would have to guess is Adam – has left me behind in that room, a fate that I planned for you."_

A whimper.

"It's okay," Lawrence murmurs absentmindedly.

"_But before I let you return to your lives, or hopefully, _life, _there are some things that I need you to know. And for you to understand why I tell you this, I have to explain one thing: I never cared about any of my patients, or victims, as you prefer to call them. The main rule if you're going to begin a life like mine is that you can't let any of your emotions in. That was what was needed to be able to watch them die without getting heartbroken. But I never thought I'd have to block out any irritation over a patient that lived because he or she disobeyed my rules. That's why I created this test for you." _

"Blame that," Adam hisses.

So much hatred.

"_You two were the puzzle pieces that didn't fit, the jokers in my otherwise perfect deck of cards. You both survived, and you learned from my game, but forgot other things along the way. Adam, you forgot about your own humanity and vulnerability, and doctor Gordon, you were needed to make him remember it again. But despite this, you are both the only ones I have tested that I am actually proud of." _

Maybe Adam relaxes a little. Maybe.

_"It is true that you both disobeyed my rules. Both the first time, and if my life has ended, you have done so this time, too. And I cannot tell if Adam has learned his lesson this time, since I'm recording this right before Amanda brings him over here, but if he had not changed from the first game, you would not live together right now. Adam would not have been happy, and doctor Gordon would not have enough emotions to be able to feel anything at all. And since you learned that from your first test, I can only assume that you learn from this one as well._

_Adam has probably learned to tell doctor Gordon that he loves him, now that he has faced the fact that you are only one kidnapping away from almost losing each other. And doctor Gordon has probably learned to pursue him a little further if he closes down on the world again."_

And then a pause. Like he's not really sure what to say.

_"There is way too much hatred in this world. You both know that. So when love as great as the one you share comes before you, you should relish it. And I hope you will spend the rest of your life doing that."_

Clunc.

The tape has ended. Adam exhales through his nose, loosens up, but still doesn't stand up from Lawrence's lap. They don't say anything for a while.

Jigsaw is right, Lawrence knows that. That's exactly what he established when they went to the hospital, wasn't it?

He can love Adam as much as he likes. Adam can be his world and his family and his guardian angel.

But he's still so fragile. So easily taken away.

And only one ghost from their past can make him so aware of that that he doesn't know if he'll ever believe anything ever again.

"He talks like he knows anything about us."

Lawrence would've startled if Adam hadn't said it so pitifully. Now, he leans his chin on Adam's shoulder, instead. Sighs heavily.

"He doesn't," Lawrence states. "You can't ever believe that he does, Adam."

"But he _does,_ doesn't he?" Adam blurts out, puts a lazy, hesitant fingertip on the tape recorder. "He knows us inside out. I mean… I've never been able to say… That I love you, he knew that. And he knows why, he knows… That you never pushed me to. I mean… What _doesn't_ he know?"

Lawrence doesn't answer right away. He considers the question and trails off in the scent of soap and tobacco from Adam's skin.

Jigsaw doesn't know that he does that.

Jigsaw doesn't know the words that aren't spoken.

"He doesn't know that I didn't need you to tell me that you loved me," Lawrence concludes softly. "He just thought that I didn't want to nag anymore. He didn't know that I… Knew it. All along. Despite what you told me."

Pause. That scent…

Lawrence wouldn't be able to live without it, and for a second, that despair that always is followed with joy so big that it almost makes him high, washes over him.

He could've lost it.

And he doesn't want to never be able to take Adam for granted again. He wants to know that he'll be there when he comes home from work.

That's another thing Jigsaw doesn't know.

You can't walk around and be grateful for life all the time. Because to be grateful for something, the gratitude has to follow a fear that you wouldn't gain it, or that you'd lose it. And there was a time when Lawrence walked around at work all day, worrying about what Adam did, if he was alright, and he didn't appreciate life at all when he did that. He was too afraid to do so.

But when Lawrence comes back to work, he's going to be safe. He won't worry, won't think that Adam's going to go away the second he turns his back on him, because then he'd be busy doing that to think about Adam's insecure grin, the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down when he drinks milk out of the carton, how he blows his cheeks up when he shaves in a way that makes him look completely mental.

And if Lawrence wouldn't think about that, he'd forget to appreciate some of the most wonderful things on this Earth. And that can't be what Jigsaw wants to achieve with those tests.

"He only knows the things he _saw,_ Adam," Lawrence mumbles and snuggles his nose in behind Adam's ear. "He doesn't know… You know, the things we know about each other without saying them. Because… You know what I'm thinking right now, don't you?"

Now, it's Adam who doesn't answer immediately. But after a few seconds…

"Yeah."

Lawrence smiles weakly.

"What am I thinking?"

And there's that grin. Oh, Lawrence loves it.

"That you love me."

Lawrence chuckles, plants a small kiss behind Adam's ear where his lips are already placed.

"How did you know that?"

"It's a gift," Adam smirks and strokes the arms around his waist. "Love you, too, by the way."

Then they're quiet and still in each other's newfound safety, until Lawrence remembers something he found out today, and lifts his chin from Adam's shoulder.

"By the way," he says. "You know what else the cops told me when I picked up the tape?"

"No?" Adam says lazily.

Lawrence tightens his grip on Adam. To be honest, he doesn't know if this will shock him, but if it will, he wants to be prepared. Adam's had enough of that today.

"They've found Zep," Lawrence states, and tries to combine his safe-doctor-voice with his considerate-lover-voice in this sentence. "In his apartment. He'd sliced his wrists open, and they found a note next to him. You know what it said?"

Adam's turned against him. He doesn't really look shocked, more surprised, with his eyes slightly widened and his lips parted. Like when they watch a horror movie together, since it's been ages since Adam actually got really scared of a movie, and Lawrence had to have an arm around his shoulders, despite his stubborn: "Who the fuck you think I am, Diana?"

Or, at least it feels like ages ago. So much has changed since then.

"No," Adam says again, more breathlessly this time.

"'For John,'" Lawrence says softly and strokes Adam's cheek. "That was it."

Adam knows that Zep was involved in this, too. They've already told each other everything, even though they both know it's useless, even though they've both made endless attempts to tell both journalists and cops what happened, both the first and second time, without being able to describe as much as fragments of the horror, the pain, the dark, screeching hole in their souls. In their loves.

And Adam's never seen Zep. So maybe it's even harder for him to understand, but it's not easy for Lawrence, either, he never saw the body and he doesn't want to, but either way, Adam doesn't seem to care. He just leans back against Lawrence again, seems to be trapped in his thoughts again, until he furrows his brows and goes:

"So he killed himself because Jigsaw was dead?"

"Yeah," Lawrence says tonelessly.

Pause.

"Wow," Adam says. "I… I never thought they were really… Close. I mean, I know he 'bonded,' or whatever the fuck they call it, with that Amanda chick, but Zep…"

"Yeah," Lawrence agrees again. "But you know… This guy was all Zep had, I think, even if he never really… Had him. He was like his role model. And some people go through their whole lives without finding someone like that."

"So when you do find it, you should _cherish_ it," Adam finishes and makes little quotation marks next to his ears. "Which you want me to do with you. I get it, Lawrence."

Lawrence smiles weakly against his shoulder. He knows Adam's about to say something, so he stays quiet until Adam's gathered up the courage, since he also knows, from some weird kind of bitterness in the bottom of his stomach on Adam's behalf, that this is something he doesn't want to ask.

"Aren't you mad at me?"

Yes, Lawrence did expect him to ask something. But this was so weird that he makes almost the exact same expression Adam had a few seconds ago, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth dropping open when he lifts his head again.

"What?"

"I mean…" Adam begins and throws his hand out. "You were the one who always told me not to hate, remember? And then I… Shot this guy in the head, and in practically every other place I could get a damn bullet in, and I didn't even feel bad about it. If that's not hate, I don't know what is."

Lawrence nods slowly, because he sees Adam's point.

He did always tell Adam not to hate. And he's never seen a more hateful creature than the one who inhabited Adam's body for those seconds when the ringing echo of the gun didn't even manage to die out before he fired another shot, and then another, and then another. But he finds it hard to really accuse Adam of that.

Maybe because Lawrence would've done the same thing. Maybe because the crime Jigsaw committed against both his and Adam's humanity was too cruel for any kind heart to stand above. Even Adam's.

"No," Lawrence finally decided. "I'm not mad at you. I think most people would do the same. And even if they wouldn't, you can be whatever you want. I will always love you and always support you, I just…"

He starts another sentence before he's sure of what to say, but he realizes that right afterwards.

"I just want you to think about the second chance we've gotten," Lawrence finishes. "Hell, if I count correctly, it's even the _third_ chance…."

A weak chuckle from Adam. Lawrence is happy about that.

He's happy that Adam doesn't cry. Happy that he can make his shakes go away, too.

Happy that Adam's here for him to calm down. Even if he'd preferred it if there wasn't anything for Adam to get worked up at all about.

"And we better take care of it," Lawrence continues. "I know I sound like… _Him_ now, but seriously. We should be grateful of this. And we don't really are that by hating. That's what you did all those years before the bathroom, wasn't it? And were did that get you?"

Adam makes a halfhearted chuckle.

"True. I'll keep that in mind."

Lawrence nods. It seems like his emotions are all stirred up now, and even though he knows Adam will crack if he shows them, he still has to get rid of them somehow. So his hands get a life of their own, creep into Adam's shirt, up along the pale, cool landscape and the waving hills of his ribs, to the gnarled, knotted circle where the bullet went through the last time.

Lawrence's fingers dance uncertainly on the scar, and Adam stiffens a little, but still leans back against Lawrence's chest with a content sigh. Lawrence, on the other hand, doesn't feel like it's arousal he keeps trapped anymore.

He'd done it once before. Why couldn't he do it this time?

But then, Adam turns his head to the side, his nose buries in the crook of Lawrence's neck, soft lips brush over his jaw line, and a flushing tingle rises up in his face.

And suddenly, Lawrence knows the answer.

He couldn't shoot Adam this time because he loves him.

And fear is not that powerful. Not powerful enough to turn him into something else, like it was in that song he forced Adam to listen to after he'd given up, allowed Lawrence to pin his wrists down above his head and grin down against him, looked up with him with eyes that were glowing with knowledge about what would come.

Fear is not that powerful. But love is powerful enough to keep Lawrence the way he is. Even the times when the world doesn't really let him.

"How's Allison doing?" Adam asks, purrs, into Lawrence's ear, and now, his lips are so close and so taunting that Lawrence has to turn his head to kiss them, taste them, let all his blood rush up to his head before he can answer.

"She's good, actually," he then says, even though he hears that his voice is a little hoarser than before. "She's a trooper. They've sewed her up, and her aorta has some small scrapes from the… Bomb," he can barely say it, it feels so far away right now, "but she's fine. I think she'll be discharged soon."

He feels Adam's nod against his neck.

"You're not going to tell Diana what happened, are you?"

Lawrence shakes his head firmly.

This was the first thing he and Allison decided when they'd both woken up. Even before the relieved hug, before Allison's confused tears wet the sheets in her hospital bed.

"This was hard enough for us who had to be in it," Lawrence says solemnly. "Everyone who can be kept out of this second game should be. Don't you think?"

Adam nods again. Doesn't say anything, until:

"But you're going to tell her eventually, right?"

"Of course," Lawrence says, even though his own aorta seems to wrap around a bomb at the mere thought, he has to press his head even closer to Adam's to remember that it's over now. "I'd prefer not to, though. Plus, there's no real reason to worry her. The games are over now, anyway. For sure this time."

He means that. And he knows it's true, but it still sounds like he's trying to convince himself. And Adam must hear this, because now, it's he who shakes his head, he who lowers his gaze with a dejected sigh, he who has to grab Lawrence's hand to remember that they _are _safe now, it's all over, and everything's broken and they're both terrified, but they _can _make it work, they can build their world up again and make sure that it's only theirs.

A place where that dark thing can't reach them.

Even though it feels like it hovers over them every second of every day now.

"It's not over," Adam states, so sadly and with so much conviction that Lawrence almost gets scared. "These games, Lawrence, they… They _never _end, I… Why do you think I didn't want to listen to that tape?"

Lawrence looks at him. And even though he only sees Adam's face from the side, he sees everything, the hurt, the worry, the old pains stirring up, the past that's so black and the love that's so big that it shouldn't be able to fit into such a small person.

It hurts. It hurts to look at him.

"I mean, if this guy could find us _here," _Adam goes on and throws his hand out. "When we were in that place you talked about, where no one could reach us and shit, how do I know that he won't come back again? Even if he's dead? How do I know that… There's not another Jigsaw that can ruin all this, too?"

Lawrence tightens his grip on Adam again. The tears are so close, so close, it should be impossible to get words past that lump in his throat, but eventually, after realizing that everything he wants to say to Adam, and everything he wants to give him that no one else has, can't possibly fit into his mouth, or in this whole kitchen, anyway, so he's going to have to spread it out over the life they're going to have to start all over again, he just says this:

"I'm here now."

"You were here the last time, too," Adam says bitterly.

Lawrence turns to look at him again, and this time, Adam looks at him, too, expects some brilliant reply, but he doesn't get one.

"I'm here now."

That's all he gets. But maybe that's enough.

"Even if there is another Jigsaw out there," Lawrence continues, and Adam's grey eyes turn into shiny mirrors, "even if someone comes along and fucks up everything we have, I'll still be here. And I'll build up everything again. With you."

Adam smiles insecurely, and when he tries to blink the tears away, they just fall down, instead, and he has to bring a knuckle to his cheeks to wipe them away.

"We just need each other, Adam," Lawrence finishes. "And we'll get by."

Adam nods sharply, and then looks away to maintain some of his pride. Lawrence doesn't get why he even tries. He's doesn't even know how many tears are streaming down his cheeks, but either way, it feels like enough to throw any trace of macho-ness out the window.

"Bring roses to my grave," Adam suddenly says.

Lawrence waits for a continuation, but Adam stays quiet, so he squeezes his waist.

"What?"

Adam waves his hand lazily.

"Mom used to say that. Bring roses to my grave."

Lawrence knows about Adam's mother now. They've really told each other everything about what happened when they were apart, since that felt like a whole lifetime.

"I… Asked when she'd die sometimes," Adam goes on, and his voice is wet and slick. "Because I'm telling you, it never felt that far away. And she just said: 'Adam, it doesn't matter when I die. As long as you bring roses my grave.'"

Lawrence doesn't say anything. He knows that Adam's reply to himself is more important than anything he can answer this with.

"I didn't understand that at first," Adam continues. "But then I realized that… She just wanted me to remember her. And her life would've been meaningful. If I remembered her as a good person. And… Remembered that she liked roses."

Lawrence smiles against Adam's ear.

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I do," Adam says and wipes his cheeks angrily again. "I don't _really_ bring roses to her grave, though. The graveyard was too close to the prison, and I wasn't allowed to go there when dad was still there. They were afraid he'd come for me, too."

Pause.

"Anyway," Adam says, sounding a little more like himself now. "Point being: I know you won't leave me. And I won't leave you, either. But if you would, I would be devastated, but… I'd still be happy that we'd been together. You know? Because… This time with you, it's been… The best of my whole fucking life. Whatever you'd do to me now… It's never going to make it not worth it. I'd still… Bring roses to your grave. At least the one in my head."

Lawrence's smile gets wider, and the smell of tobacco and soap from Adam's skin seems to be stronger than ever before.

"I'm glad you've gotten that, Adam."

Adam grins. And right then, Lawrence is even more aware that they're going to get through this.

You learn how to crawl, you learn how to walk. And you fall sometimes, but then you just stand up again. No matter how hard it is.

"Is your dad still in jail?" Lawrence asks.

"No," Adam says and shakes his head.

Lawrence runs his thumb over the scar he still has his fingers on.

"What do you say we go to that grave tomorrow? And buy some roses?"

Adam smiles. But the tears fall down again.

"I'd like that," he says softly. "I think mom would, too."

Lawrence smiles, too. Then he pulls Adam's t-shirt a little further down over his shoulder and kisses the angrily red circle of skin there. A way to say that he's sorry.

But scars heal. They always do. Even if they never go away.

Adam and Lawrence are going to stand up now, put roses on the graves they have to. No matter how hard it is. And they're going to make it.

It begins now. There are now real ends.

**AW! I'd almost forgotten how cute those two were when they weren't separated for almost a whole fic! Anyway, I dearly appreciate the ones who've reviewed through this whole thing. And I'd tell you to do it on this chapter, too, but… I know you will! XD **


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